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CHARLES O’MALLEY, 

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THE 


IRISH DRAGOON. 


BY 

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HARRY LORREQUER. 


WITH 

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PHIZ. 


PHILADELPHIA : 
CAREY AND HART. 
1841 . 




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C. SHERMAN AND CO., PRINTERS, 

19 , ST. JAMES STREET, PIIILADELPIIIA. 

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A WORD OF EXPLANATION. 


Kind Public, 

Having so lately taken my leave of the stage, in a farewell 
benefit, it is but fitting that I should explain the circumstances which 
once more bring me before you — that I may not appear intrusive, 
where I have met with but too much indulgence. 

A blushing debutant — entre the most impudent Irishman 

that ever swaggered down Sackville-street — ^has requested me to 
present him to your acquaintance. He has every ambition to be a 
favourite with you ; but says — God forgive him — ^he is too bashful 
for the foot-lights. 

He has remarked — as, doubtless, many others have done — upon 
what very slight grounds, and with what slender pretension, my 
Confessions have met with favour at the hands of the press and the 
public ; and the idea has occurred to him, to indite his own. Had 
his determination ended here, I should have nothing to object to ; 
but, unfortunately, he expects me to become his Editor, and in some 
sort responsible for the faults of his production. I have wasted 
much eloquence and more breath, in assuring him that I was no 
tried favourite of the public, who dared take liberties with them — 
that the small rag of reputation I enjoyed was a very scanty cover- 
ing for my own nakedness ; that the plank which swam with one 
would most inevitably sink wit^ two ; and, lastly, that the indul- 
gence so often bestowed upon a first eifort is as frequently con- 
verted into censure on the older offender. IMy arguments have, 
however, totally failed, and he remains obdurate and unmoved. 

3 


, ;nder these circumstS^^ I hav^ield^d ;‘ -^nd, as, happily for me, 
H^he short and pithy dir^^n to the river Thames, in the Critic, to 
keep between its banks,’^ has been imitated by my friend, I find 
all that is required of me is to Avrite my name upon the title — and 
go in peace. Such, he informs me, is modern editorship. 

In conclusion, I would beg, that if the debt he now incurs at your 
hands remain unpaid, you would kindly bear in mind, that your 
remedy lies against the drawer of the bill, and not against its mere 
humble endorser. 

Harry Lorrequer. 


Brussels, March, 1S40. 


I 


CHARLES O’MALLEY, 

THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


CHAPTER 1. 
daly’s club house 

The rain was dashing in torrents against the window panes, and 
the wind sweeping in heavy and fitful gusts along the dreary and 
deserted streets, as a party of three persons sat over their wine, in 
that stately old pile which once formed the resort of the Irish 
Members, in College Green, Dublin, and went by the name of 
Daly’s Club House. The clatter of falling tiles and chimney-pots 
— the jarring of the window-frames and howling of the storm 
without, seemed little to affect the spirits of those within, as they 
drew closer to a blazing fire, before which stood a small table 
covered with the dibris of a dessert, and an abundant supply of 
bottles, whose characteristic length of neck indicated the rarest 
wines of France and Germany; while the portly magnum of claret — 
the wine, par excellence., of every Irish gentleman of the day — 
passed rapidly from hand to hand, the conversation did not languish, 
and many a deep and hearty laugh followed the stories which every 
now and then were told, as some reminiscence of early days was 
recalled, or some trait of a former companion remembered. 

One of the party, however, was apparently engrossed by other 
thoughts than those of the mirth and merriment around ; for, in 
the midst of all, he would turn suddenly from the others, and 
devote himself to a number of scattered sheets of paper, upon 
which he had written some lines, but whose crossed and blotted 
sentences attested how little success had waited upon his literary 
labours. This individual was a short, plethoric-looking, white- 
haired man, of about fifty, with a deep, round voice, and a chuck- 
ling, smothering laugh, which, ^henever he indulged, not only 
shook his own ample person, but generally created a petty earth- 
quake on every side of him. For the present, I shall not stop to 
particularize him more closely ; but, when I add, that the person 
in question was a well-known Member of the Irish House of 
Commons, whose acute understanding and practical good sense 

a2 5 


I 


^ Cil ARLES 0'.. -wLLEY, 

were veiled under anatl^cted and well-dissembled habit of blunder- 
ing, that did far more for his party than the most violent and pointed 
attacks of his more accurate associates, soma of my readers may 
anticipate me in pronouncing him to be Sir Harry Boyle. Upon 
his left sat a figure the most unlike him possible; he was a tall, 
thin, bony man, with a bolt-upright air, and a most saturnine ex- 
pression; liis eyes were covered by a deep green shade, which fell 
far over his face, but failed to conceal a blue scar, that, crossing his 
cheek, ended in the angle of his mouth, and imparted to that fea- 
ture, when he spoke, an apparently abortive attempt to extend 
towards his eyebrow; his upper lip was covered with a grizzly 
and ill-trimmed moustache, which added much to the ferocity of 
his look, while a thin and pointed beard on his chin gave an ap- 
parent length to the whole face that completed its rueful character. 
His dress was a single-breasted tightly-buttoned frock, in one button- 
hole of which a red ribbon was fastened, the decoration of a foreign 
service, which conferred upon its wearer the title of Count ; and 
though Billy Considine, as he was familiarly called by his friends, 
was a thorough Irishman in all his feelings and affections, yet he 
had no objection to the designation he had gained in the Austrian 
army. The Count was certainly no beauty, but, somehow, very 
few men of his day had a fancy for telling him so ; a deadlier hand 
and a steadier eye never covered his man in the Phoenix; and 
though he never had a seat in the House, he was always regarded 
as one of the^overnment party, who more than once had damped 
the ardour of an opposition member, by the very significant threat 
of setting Billy at him.’’ The third figure of the group was a 
large, powerfully-built, and handsome man, older than either of 
the others, but not betraying in his voice and carriage any touch 
of time. He was attired in the green coat and buff vest which 
formed the livery of the Club ; and in his tall, ample forehead, clear, 
well-^eteye, and still handsome mouth, bore evidence that no great 
flattery was necessary at the time which called Godfrey O’Malley 
the handsomest man in Ireland. 

Upon my conscience,” said Sir Hairy, throwing down his pen 
with an air of ill-temper, ‘H can make nothing of it; I have got 
into such an infernal habit of making bulls, that I can’t write sense 
when I want it.” 

Come, come,” said O’Malley, ‘Hry again my dear fellow. If 
you can’t succeed, I’m sure Billy and I have no chance.” 

^AVhat have you written? Let us see,” said Considine, drawing 
the paper towards him, and holding it to the light, ‘^why, what the 
devil is all this? you have made him ‘drop down dead after dinner, 
of a lingering illness, brought on 1^ the debate of yesterday.’ ” 

“ Oil, impossible!” 

“ Well, read it yourself; there it is, and, as if to make the thing 
less creditable, you talk of his ‘bill for the better recovery of small 
debts.’ I’m sure, O’Malley, your last moments were not employed 
in that manner.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


7 


Come, now,’' said Sir Harry, set all to rights with a post- 
script. ' Any one who questions the above statement, is politely 
requested to call on Mr. Considine, 16 , Kildare Street, who will 
feel happy to afford him every satisfliction upon Mr. O’Malley’s 
decease, or upon miscellaneous matters.’ ” 

Worse and worse,” said O’Malley. Killing another man will 
never persuade the world that I am dead.” 

‘‘ But we’ll wake you, and have a glorious funeral.” 

And if any man doubt the statement. I’ll call him out,” said 
the Count. 

Or, better still,” said Sir Harry, O’Malley has his action at 
law for defamation.” 

“I see I’ll never get down to Galway at this rate,” said O’Malley; 
“and as the new electi(fn takes place on Tuesday week, time 
presses. There are more writs flying after me this instant than 
for all the government boroughs.” 

“ And there will be fewer returns, I fear,” said Sir Harry. 

“Who is the chief creditor ?” asked the Count. 

“ Old Stapleton the attorney, in Fleet Street, has most of the 
mortgages.” 

“ Nothing to be done with him in this way,” said Considine, 
balancing the cork-screw like a hair trigger. 

“No chance of it.” 

“ May be,” said Sir Harry, “he might come to terms, if I were 
to call and say — you are anxious to close accounts, as your death 
has just taken place. You know what I mean.” 

“ I fear so should he, were you to say so. No, no, Boyle, just 
try a plain, straight-forward paragraph about my death. We’ll 
have it in Falkner’s paper to-morrow; on Friday the funeral can 
take place, and, with the blessing o’ God, I’ll come to life on Satur- 
day at Athlone, in time to canvass the market.” 

“ I think it wouldn’t be bad, if your ghost were to appear to old 
Timins, the tanner, in Naas, on your way down ; you know he 
arrested^ou once before.” 

“ I preier a night’s sleep,” said O’Malley; “'but come, finish the 
squib for the paper.” 

“ Stay a little,” said Sir Harry, musing ; “ it just strikes me that 
if ever the matter gets out, I may be in some confounded scrape. 
Who knows if it is not a breach of privilege to report the death 
of a member, and to tell you the truth, I dread the sergeant and 
the speaker’s warrant with a very lively fear.” 

“ Why, when did you make his acquaintance ?” said the Count. 

“Is it possible you never heard of Boyle’s committal?” said 
O’Malley; “you surely must have been abroad at the time; but,<> 
it’s not too late to tell it yet. 

“ Well, it’s about two years since old Townsend brought in his 
enlistment bill, and the whole country was scoured for all our 
voters, Avho were scattered here and there, never anticipating 
another call of the House, and supposing that the session was just 


8 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


over. Among others, up came our friend Harry, here, and the 
night he arrived they made him a ‘monk of the screw,^ and very 
soon made him forget his senatorial dignities. 

“ On the evening after his reaching town, the bill was brought 
in, and, at two in the morning, the division took place — a vote was 
of too much consequence, not to look after it closely — and a castle 
messenger was in waiting in Exchequer-street, who, when the 
debate was closing, put Harry, with three others, into a coach, and 
brought them down to the House. Unfortunately, however, they 
mistook their friends, voted against the bill ; and, amid the loudest 
cheering of the opposition the government party were defeated. 
The rage of the ministers knew no bounds, and looks of defiance 
and even threats were exchanged between the ministers and the 
deserters. Amid all this, poor Harry felf fast asleep, and dreamed 
that he was once more in Exchequer-street, presiding among the 
monks, and mixing another tumbler. At length he awoke and 
looked about him — the clerk was just at the instant reading out, in 
his usual routine manner, a clause of the new bill, and the re- 
mainder of the house was in dead silence. Harry looked again 
around on every side, wondering where was the hot water, and 
what had become of the whisky bottle, and, above all, why the 
company were so extremely dull and ungenial. At length, with 
a half shake, he roused up a little, and giving a look of unequivocal 
contempt on every side, called out, ‘ upon my soul you’re pleasant 
companions — ^but I’ll give you a chaunt to enliven you.’ So say- 
ing, he cleared his throat with a couple of short coughs, and struck 
up, with the voice of a Stentor, the following verse of a popular 
ballad: 

“ And they nibbled away, both night and day, 

Like mice in a round of Glo’ster ; 

Great rogues they were all, both great and small ; 

From Flood to Leslie Foster. 

“ Great rogues all.’ 

“ Chorus, boys.” 

If he was not joined by the voices of his friends in th? song, it 
was probably because such a roar of laughing never was heard 
since the walls were roofed over. The whole house rose in a 
mass, and my friend Harry was hurried over the benches by the 
sergeant-at-arms, and left for three weeks in Newgate, to practise 
his melody.” 

“ All true,” said Sir Harry, “ and worse luck to them, for not 
liking music ; but come now, will this do ? — ‘ It is our melancholy 
duty to announce the death of Godfrey O’Malley, Esq., late 
member for the county of Galway, which took place on Friday 
evening, at Daly’s club house. This esteemed gentlemen’s family 
— one of the oldest in Ireland, and among whom it was hereditary 
not to have any children ” 

Here a burst of laughter from Considine and O’Malley inter- 
rupted the reader, who with the greatest difficulty could be per 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


9 


suaded that he was again bulling it. — The devil fly away with 
it/’ said he, “ I’ll never succeed.” 

« Never mind,” said O’Malley; <nhe first part will do admirably; 
and let us now turn our attention to other matters.” 

A fresh magnum was called for, and over its inspiring contents, 
all the details of the funeral were planned ; and, as the clock struck 
four, the party separated for the night, well satisfied with the result 
of their labours. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE ESCAPE. 

When the dissolution of Parliament was announced the follow- 
ing morning in Dublin, its interest in certain circles was manifestly 
increased by the fact, that Godfrey O’Malley was at last open to 
arrest — for, as in olden times, certain gifted individuals possessed 
some happy immunity against death by fire or sword, so the worthy 
O’Malley seemed to enjoy a no less valuable privilege, and for 
many a year had passed, among the myrmidons of the law, as writ- 
proof. Now, however, the charm seemed to have yielded, and 
pretty much with the same feeling as a storming party may be sup- 
posed to experience on the day that a breach is reported as practi- 
cable, did the honest attorneys retained in the various suits against 
him, rally round each other that morning in the Four Courts. 

Bonds, mortgages, post obits, promissory notes, in fact eve.ry 
imaginable species of invention for raising the O’Malley exchequer, 
for the preceding thirty years, were handed about on all sides ; 
suggesting to the mind of an uninterested observer, the notion that, 
had the aforesaid O’Malley been an independent and absolute 
monarch, instead of merely being the member for Galway, the king- 
dom over whose destinies he had been called to preside would 
have suffered not a little from a depreciated currency and an ex- 
travagant issue of paper. Be that as it might, one thing was clear, 
the whole estates of the family could not possibly pay one-fourth 
of the debt ; and the only question was one which occasionally 
arises at a scanty dinner on a mail-coach road — who was to be the 
lucky individual to carve the joint, where so many were sure to go 
off hungry. 

It was now a trial of address between these various and highly- 
gifted gentlemen, who should first pounce upon the victim, and 
when the skill of their caste is taken into consideration, who will 
doubt that every feasible expedient for securing him was resorted 
to ! While writs were struck against him in Dublin, emissaries 
were despatched to the various surrounding counties, to procure 
others, in the event of his escape. Ne exeats were sworn and 
2 


10 


CHARLES o’mALLEY. 


water bailiffs engaged to follow him on the high seas ; and as the 
great Nassau balloon did not exist in those days, no imaginable 
mode of escape appeared possible, and bets were offered at long 
odds, that, within twenty-four hours, the late member would be en- 
joying his otium cum dlgnitate in his Majesty’s gaol of Newgate. 

Expectation was at the highest — confidence hourly increasing — 
success all but certain — when, in the midst of all this high bound- 
ing hope, the dreadful rumour spread, that O’Malley was no more. 
One had seen it just five minutes before, in the evening edition of 
Falkner’s paper — another heard it in the courts — a third overheard 
the Chief Justice stating it to the Master of the Rolls — and, lastly, 
a breathless witness arrived from College-green, with the news, 
that Daly’s Club House was shut up, and the shutters closed. To 
describe the consternation the intelligence caused on every side is 
impossible ; nothing in history equals it, except, perhaps, the en- 
trance of the French army into Moscow, deserted and forsaken by 
its former inhabitants. While terror and dismay, therefore, spread 
amid that wide and respectable body who formed O’Malley’s 
creditors, the preparations for his funeral were going on with every 
rapidity — relays of horses were ordered at every stage of the 
journey, and it was announced that, in testimony of his worth, a 
large party of his friends were to accompany his remains to Por- 
tumna Abbey — a test much more indicative of resistance in the 
event of any attempt to arrest the body, than of any thing like 
reverence for their departed friend. 

Such was the state of matters in Dublin, when a letter reached 
me one morning at O’Malley Castle, whose contents, will at once 
explain the writer’s intention, and also serve to introduce my un- 
worthy self to my reader. It ran thus : — 

“ Dear Charley, 

‘^Your uncle Godfrey, whose debts [God pardon him] are more 
numerous than the hairs of his wig, was obliged to die here last 
night. We did the thing for him completely ; and all doubts as to 
the reality of the event, are silenced by the circumstantial detail of 
the newspaper, Hhat he was confined six weeks to his bed, from a 
cold he caught ten days ago while on guard.’ Repeat this, for it’s 
better we had all the same story, till he comes to life again, which 
maybe will not take place before Tuesday or Wednesday. At the 
same time, canvass the county for him, and say he’ll be with his 
friends next week, and up in Woodford, and the Scariff barony: 
say he died a true Catholic ; it will serve him on the hustings. 
Meet us in Athlone on Saturday, and bring your uncle’s mare with 
you — ^he says he’d rather ride home ; and tell Father Mac Shane 
to have a bit of dinner ready about four o’clock, for the corpse can 
get nothing after he leaves Mountmelick. — No more now, from 
yours, ever. « Harry Boyle. 

“ Daly’s, about eight in the evening. 

“To Chatiles O’Malley, Esq.. 

“ O’Malley-Castle, Galway.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


11 


When this not over ciear document reached me, I was the sole 
inhabitant of O’Malley Castle, a very ruinous pile of iiiQongruous 
masonry, that stood in a wild and dreary part of the County of 
Galway, bordering on the Shannon ; on every side stretched the 
property of my uncle, or at least wliat had once been so ; and 
indeed so numerous were its present claimants that he would have 
been a subtle lawyer who could have pronounced upon the rightful 
owner. The demesne around the castle contained some well-grown 
and handsome timber, and, as the soil was undulating and fertile, 
presented many features of beauty; beyond, it was all sterile, 
bleak, and barren. Long tracts of brown heath-clad mountain, or 
not less unprofitable valleys of tall and waving fern were all that 
the eye could discern, except where the broad Shannon, expanding 
into a tranquil and glassy lake, lay still and motionless beneath the 
dark mountains; a few islands, with some ruined churches and a 
round tower, alone breaking the dreary waste of water. ^ 

Here it was that I had passed my infancy and my youth, and 
here I now stood at the age of seventeen, quite unconscious that 
the world contained aught fairer and brighter than that gloomy 
valley, with its rugged frame of mountains. 

When a mere child, I was left an orphan to the care of my 
worthy uncle. My father, whose extravagance had well sustained 
the family reputation, had_ squandered a large and handsome pro- 
perty in contesting elections for his native county, and in keeping 
up that system of unlimited hospitality for which Ireland in general, 
and Galway more especially, was renowned. The result was, as 
might be expected, ruin and beggary: he died, leaving every one 
of his estates encumbered with heavy debts, and the only legacy 
he left to his brother was a boy of four years of age, entreating him, 
with his last breath — ^‘Be any thing you like to him, Godfrey, but 
a father, or at least such a one as I have proved.” 

Godfrey O’Malley, some short time previous, had lost his wife, 
and when this new trust was committed to him, he resolved never 
to re-marry, but to rear me up as his own child, and the inheritor 
of his estates. How weighty and onerous an obligation this latter 
might prove the reader can form some idea; the intention was, 
however, a kind one ; and, to do my uncle justice, he loved me 
with all the affection of a warm and open heart. 

From my earliest years his whole anxiety was to fit me for the 
part of a country gentleman, as he regarded that character — viz. : 
I rode boldly with fox-hounds; 1 was about the best shot within 
twenty miles of us; I could swim the Shannon at Holy Island; I 
drove four-in-hand better than the coachman himself ; and from 
finding a hare to hooking a salmon, my equal could not be found, 
from killaloe to Banagher. These were the staple of my endow- 
ments ; besides which, the parish priest had taught me a little 
Latin, a little French, and a little geometry, and a great deal of 
the life and opinions of St. Jago, who presided over a holy well in 
the neighbourhood, and was held in very considerable repute. 


12 


CHARLES o’mALLET 


When I add to this portraiture of my accomplishments that 
I was nearly six feet high, with more than a common share of 
activity and strength for my years, and no inconsiderable portion 
of good looks, I have finished my sketch, and stand before my 
reader. 

It is now time I should return to Sir Harry’s letter, which so com- 
pletely bewildered me that, but for the assistance of Father Koach, 
I should have been totally unable to make out the writer’s inten- 
tions. By his advice, I immediately set out for Athlone, where, 
when I arrived, I found my uncle addressing the mob from the 
top of the hearse, and recounting his miraculous escapes as a new 
claim upon their gratitude. 

There was nothing else for it, boys; the Dublin people insisted 
on my being their member, and besieged the club-house. I refused 
— they threatened — I grew obstinate — they furious. ‘ I’ll die first,’ 
said I, ‘ Galway or nothing !’ ‘ Hurrah !’ from the mob ; ‘ O’Malley 

forever!’ ‘And ye see I keep my Avord, boys — I did die; I died 
that evening at a quarter past eight. There, read it for yourselves ; 
there’s the paper; was waked, and carried out, and here I am after 
all, ready to die in earnest for you — but never to desert you.’ ” 

The cheers here Avere deafening; and my uncle Avas carried 
through the market, doAvn to the mayor’s house, Avho, being a 
friend of the opposite party, Avas complimented Avith three groans ; 
then up the Mall to the chapel, beside Avhich Father Mac Shane 
resided; he was then suffered to touch the earth once more, Avhen, 
having shaken hands Avith all of his constituency Avithin reach, he 
entered Avithin the house, to partake of the kindest Avelcome and 
best reception the good priest could afford him. 

My uncle’s progress homeAvard Avas a triumph ; the real secret 
of his escape had somehow come out, and his popularity rose to a 
white heat. “An it’s little O’Malley cares for the laAv — bad luck 
to it; it’s himself can laugh at judge and jury. Arrest him! — 
na bocklish — catch a Aveasel asleep,” &:c. Such Avere the encomi- 
ums that greeted him as he passed on toAvards home ; Avhile shouts 
of joy and blazing bonfires attested that his success Avas regarded 
as a national triumph. 

The west has certainly its strong features of identity. Had my 
uncle possessed the claims of the immortal HoAvard — had he united 
in his person all the attributes Avhich confer a lasting and an enno- 
bling fame upon humanity — ^he might have passed on unnoticed and 
unobserved ; but for the man that had duped a judge and escaped 
the sheriff*, nothing was sufficiently flattering to mark their appro- 
bation, The success of the exploit was tAvo-fold ; the neAVs spread 
far and near, and the very story canvassed the country better than 
Billy Davern himself, the Athlone attorney. 

This Avas the prospect noAv before us ; and, however little my 
readers may sympathize with my taste, I must honestly avoAV that 
I looked forAvard to it with a most delightful feeling. O’Malley 
Castle was to be the centre of operations, and filled Avith my uncle’s 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


13 


supporters ; while I, a mere stripling, and usually treated as a boy, 
was to be intrusted with an important mission, and sent off to can- 
vass a distant relation, with whom my uncle was not upon terms, 
and who might possibly be approachable by a younger branch of 
the family, with whom he had never any collision. 


CHAPTER III. 

MR. BLAKE. 

Nothing but the exigency of the case could ever have persuaded 
my uncle to stoop to the humiliation of canvassing the individual 
to whom I was now about to proceed as envoy extraordinary, with 
full powers to make any or every amende, provided only his 
interest, and that of his followers, should be thereby secured to the 
O’Malley cause. The evening before I set out was devoted to 
giving me all the necessary instructions how I was to proceed, and 
what difficulties I was to avoid. 

Say your uncle’s in high feather with the government party,” 
said Sir Harry, “ and that he only votes against them as a ruse de 
guerre, as the French call it.” 

‘‘ Insist upon it, that I am sure of the election without him ; but 
that for family reasons he should not stand aloof from me ; that 
people are talking of it in the country.” 

“And drop a hint,” said Considine, “that O’Malley is greatly 
improved in his shooting.” 

“ And don’t get drunk too early in the evening, for Phil. Blake 
has beautiful claret,” said another. 

“ And be sure you don’t make love to the red-headed girls,” 
added a third ; “ he has four of them, each more sinfully ugly than 
the other.” 

“You’ll be playing whist too,” said Boyle; “and nevermind 
losing a few pounds. Mrs. B., long life to her, has a playful way 
of turning the king.” 

“ Charley will do it all well,” said my uncle ; “ leave him alone; 
and now let us have in the supper.” 

It was only on the following morning, as the tandem came round 
to the door, that I began to feel the importance of my mission, and 
certain misgivings came over me as to my ability to fulfil it. Mr. 
Blake and his family, though estranged from my uncle for several 
years past, had been always most kind and good-natured to me ; 
and, although I could not, with propriety, have cultivated any 
close intimacy with them, I had every reason to suppose, that they 
entertained towards me nothing but sentiments of good will. The 
head of the family was a Galway squire of the oldest and most 

B 


14 


CHARLES 0 MALLEY, 


genuine stock ; a great sportsman, a negligent farmer, and most 
careless father ; ho looked upon a fox as an infinitely more precious 
part of the creation than a French governess; and thought that 
riding well with liounds was a far better gift than all the learning 
of a Po'i’son. His daughters were after his own heart — the best- 
tempered, least-educated, most high-spirited, gay, dashing, ugly 
girls in the country — ready to ride over a four-foot paling without 
a saddle, and to dance the ‘‘ Wind that shakes the barley,'’ for four 
consecutive hours, against all the officers that their hard fate, and 
the Horse-guards, ever condemned to Galway. 

The mamma was only remarkable for her liking for whist, and 
her invariable good fortune thereat; a circumstance, the world 
were agreed in ascribing less to the blind goddess than her own 
natural endowments. 

Lastly, the heir of the house was a stripling of about my own 
age, whose accomplishments were limited to selling spavined and 
broken-winded horses to the infantry officers, playing a safe game 
at billiards, and acting as jackal-general to his sisters at balls, pro- 
viding them with a sufficiency of partners, and making a strong 
fight for a place at the supper-table for his mother. These paternal 
and filial traits, more honoured at home than abroad, had made 
Mr. Matthew Blake a rather well-known individual in the neigh- 
bourhood where he lived. 

Though Mr. Blake's property was ample, and, strange to say 
for his county, unencumbered, the whole air and appearance of 
his house and grounds betrayed any thing rather than a sufficiency 
of means. The gate lodge was a miserable mud hovel, with a 
thatched and falling roof ; the gate itself, a wooden contrivance, 
one half of which was boarded, and the other railed ; the avenue 
was covered with weeds, and deep with ruts, and the clumps of 
young plantation which had been planted and fenced with care, 
were now open to the cattle, and either totally uprooted or denuded 
of their bark, and dying. The lawn, a handsome one of some 
forty acres, had been devoted to an exercise ground for training 
horses, and was cut up by their feet, beyond all semblance of its 
original destination ; and the house itself, a large and venerable 
structure of above a century old, displayed every variety of con- 
trivance, as well as the usual one of glass, to exclude the weather 
from the windows. The hall-door hung by a single hinge, and 
required three persons each morning and evening, to open and 
shut it ; the remainder of the day it lay pensively open ; the steps 
which led to it were broken and falling ; and the whole aspect of 
things without was ruinous in the extreme. Within, matters were 
somewhat better, for, though the furniture was old, and none of it 
clean, yet an appearance of comfort was evident ; and the large 
grate, blazing with its pile of red-hot turf, the deep cushioned 
chairs, the old black mahogany dinner-table, and the soft carpet, 
albeit deep with dust, were not to be despised on a winter's even- 
ing, after a hard day's run with the ‘‘Blazers." Here it was. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


15 


iiowever, that Mr. Philip Blake had dispensed his hospitalities for 
above fifty years, and his father before him ; and here, with a 
retinue of servants as gauche and ill-ordered as all about them, 
was he accustomed to invite all that the country possessed of rank 
and wealth, among which the officers quartered in his neighbour- 
hood, were never neglected, the Misses Blake having as decided a 
taste for the army as any young ladies of the west of Ireland ; 
and, while the Galway squire, with his cords and tops, was detail- 
ing the last news from Ballinasloe in one corner, the dandy from 
St. James’s-street might be seen displaying more arts of seductive 
flattery in another, than his most accurate insouciance would per- 
mit him to practise in the elegant saloons of London or Paris : and 
the same man who would have ‘^cut his brother,’’ for a solecism 
of dress or equipage, in Bond-street, was now to be seen quietly 
domesticated, eating family dinners, rolling silk for the young ladies, 
going down the middle in a country dance, and even descending 
to the indignity of long whist, at tenpenny” points, with only the 
miserable consolation, that the company were not honest. 

It was upon a clear frosty morning, when a bright blue sky and 
a sharp but bracing air seem to exercise upon the feelings a sense 
no less pleasurable than the balmiest breeze and warmest sun of 
summer, that I whipped my leader short round, and entered the 
precincts of Gurt-na-Morra.” As I proceeded along the avenue, 
I was struck by the slight trace of repairs here and there evident ; 
a gate or two that formerly had been parallel to the horizon, had 
been raised to the perpendicular ; some inefiectual efforts at paint 
were also perceptible upon the palings, and in short, everything 
seemed to have undergone a kind of attempt at improvement. 

When I reached the door, instead of being surrounded, as of old, 
by a tribe of menials frieze-coated, bare-headed, and bare-legged, 
my presence was announced by a tremendous ringing of bells, from 
the hands of an old functionary, in a very formidable livery, who 
peeped at me through the hall-window, and whom, with the 
greatest difficulty, I recognised as my quondam acquaintance, the 
butler. His wig alone would have graced a king’s counsel, and 
the high collar of his coat, and the stiff pillory of his cravat, denoted 
an eternal adieu to so humble a vocation as drawing a cork. 
Before I had time for any conjecture as to the altered circumstances 
about, the activity of my friend at the bell had surrounded me 
with four others worse than himself,” at least, they were exactly 
similarly attired ; and, probably, from the novelty of their costume, 
and the restraints of so unusual a thing as dress, were as perfectly 
unable to assist themselves or others, as the Court of Aldermen 
would be, where they to rig out in plate armour of the fourteenth 
century. How much longer I might have gone on conjecturing 
the reasons for the masquerade around, I cannot say; but my 
servant, an Irish disciple of my uncle’s, whispered in my ear — “ It’s 
a red breeches day. Master Charles — they’ll have the hoith of com- 
pany in the house ” From the phrase, it needed little explanation 


16 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


to inform me, that it was one of those occasions, on which Mr. 
Blake attired all the hangers-on of his house in livery, and that 
great preparations were in progress for a more than usually splen- 
did reception. 

In the next moment I was ushered into the breakfast-room, where 
a party of above a dozen persons were most gayly enjoying ail the 
good cheer for which the house had a well-deserved repute. After 
the usual shaking of hands, and hearty greetings were over, I was 
introduced in all form to Sir George Dashwood, a tall, and singu- 
larly handsome man of about fifty, with an undress military frock 
and ribbon. His reception of me was somewhat strange, for as 
they mentioned my relationship to Godfrey O’Malley, he smiled 
slightly and whispered something to Mr. Blake, who replied — Oh ! 
no, no, not the least, a mere boy — and besides,” — what he added 
I lost, for at that moment Nora Blake was presenting me to Miss 
Dashwood. 

If the sweetest blue eyes that ever beamed beneath a forehead 
of snowy whiteness, over which dark brown and waving hair fell, 
less in curls than masses of locky richness, could only have known 
what wild work they were making of my poor heart. Miss Dash- 
wood, I trust, would have looked at her tea-cup, or her muffin, 
rather than at me, as she actually did on that fatal morning. If I 
were to judge from her costume, she had only just arrived, and the 
morning air had left upon her cheek a bloom, that contributed 
greatly to the effect of her lovely countenance. Although very 
young, her form had all the roundness of womanhood ; while her 
gay and sprightly manner indicated all the sans gene, which only 
very young girls possess, and which, when tempered with perfect 
good taste and accompanied by beauty and no small share of talent, 
form an irresistible power of attraction. 

Beside her sat a tall handsome man of about five-and-thirty or 
perhaps forty years of age, with a most soldierly air, who, as I was 
presented to him, scarcely turned his head, and gave me a half-nod 
of very unequivocal coldness. There are moments in life, in which 
the heart is, as it were, laid bare to any chance or casual impression, 
with a wondrous sensibility of pleasure, or its opposite. This 
to me was one of those ; and, as I turned from the lovely girl, who 
had received me with a marked courtesy, to the cold air and repel- 
ling hauteur of the dark-browed Captain, the blood rushed throb- 
bing to my forehead ; and, as I walked to my place at the table, I 
eagerly sought his eye, to return him a look of defiance and disdain, 
proud and contemptuous as his own. Captain Hammersly, how- 
ever, never took further notice of me, hut continued to recount, for 
the amusement of those about, several excellent stories of his mili- 
tary career, which, I confess, were heard with every test of delight 
by all, save me. One thing galled me particularly — and how easy 
is it, when you have begun by disliking a person, to supply food 
for your antipathy — all his allusions to his military life were coupled 
with half-hinted and ill-concealed sneers at civilians of every\ind 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


17 


as though every man not a soldier were absolutely unfit for com- 
mon intercourse with the world — still more, for any favourable re- 
ception in ladiesf society. 

The young ladies of the family were a well-chosen auditory, for 
their admiration of the army extended from the Life Guards to the 
Veteran Battalion, the Sappers and Miners included ; and, as Miss 
Dashwood was the daughter of a soldier, she, of course, coincided 
in many, if not all his opinions. I turned towards my neighbour, 
a Clare gentleman, and tried to engage him in conversation, but 
he was breathlessly attending to the Captain. On my left, sat 
Matthew Blake, whose eyes were firmly riveted upon* the same 
person, and heard his marvels with an interest scarcely inferior to 
that of his sisters. Annoyed, and in ill-temper, I eat my breakfast 
in silence, and resolved that, the first moment I could obtain a 
hearing from Mr. Blake, I should open my negotiation, and take 
my leave at once of “ Gurt-na-Morra.” 

We all assembled in a large room, called, by courtesy, the library, 
when breakfast was over ; and then it was that Mr. Blake taking 
me aside, whispered, “ Charley, it’s right I should inform you that 
Sir George Dashwood there is the Commander of the Forces, and 

is come down here at this moment to What for, or how 

it should concern me, I was not to learn ; for at that critical instant, 
my informant’s attention was called off, by Captain Hammersly 
asking if the hounds were to hunt that day. 

“ My friend Charley, here, is the best authority upon that matter,” 
said Mr. Blake, turning towards me. 

“ They are to try the Priest’s meadows,” said I, with an air of 
some importance ; “ but, if your guests desire a day’s sport. I’ll 
send word over to Brackely to bring the dogs over here, and we 
are sure to find a fox in your cover.” 

Oh, then, by all means,” said the Captain, turning towards Mr. 
Blake,, and addressing himself to him — ‘‘ by all means, and Miss 
Dashwood, I’m sure, would like to see the hounds throw oft’.” 

Whatever chagrin the first part of his speech caused me, the 
latter set my heart a throbbing ; and I hastened from the room to 
despatch a messenger to the huntsman, to come over to Gurt-na- 
Morra, and also, another to O’Malley Castle, to bring my best horse 
and my riding equipments, as quickly as possible. 

“Matthew, who is this Captain?” said I, as young Blake met 
me in the hall. 

“ Oh ! he is the aide-de-camp of General Dashwood. A nice 
fellow, isn’t he ?” 

“ I don’t know what you may think,” said I, “ but I take him 
for the most impertinent, imprudent, supercilious .” 

The rest of my civil speech was cut short by the appearance 
of the very individual in question, who, with his hands in his 
pockets, and a cigar in his mouth, sauntered forth down the steps, 
taking no more notice of Matthew Blake and myself than of the 
two fox terriers that followed at his heels. 

3 b2 


18 


CHARLES o’mALLET, 


However anxious I might he to open negotiations on the subject 
of my mission, for the present the thing was impossible ; for I 
found that Sir George Dashwood was closeted closely with Mr. 
Blake, and resolved to wait till evening, when chance might afford 
me the opportunity I desired. 

As the ladies had entered to dress for the hunt, and, as I felt no 
peculiar desire to ally myself with the unsocial Captain, I accom- 
panied Matthew to the stable to look after the cattle and make 
preparations for the coming sport. 

“ There’s Captain Hammersly’s horse,” said Matthew, as he 
pointed out a highly bred but powerful English hunter: ^^she came 
last night, for, as he expected some sport, he sent his horses from 
Dublin on purpose. The other will be here to-day.” 

What is his regiment ?” said I, with an appearance of careless- 
ness, but in reality feeling curious to know if the Captain was a 
cavalry or infantry officer. 

“ The ^th Light Dragoons,” said Matthew. 

You never saw him ride ?” said I. 

Never ; but his groom there says he leads the way in his own 
county.” 

And where may that be ?” 

In Leicestershire, no less,” said Matthew'. 

Does he know Galway ?” 

Never was in it before ; it’s only this minute he asked Mosey 
Daly if the ox-fences were high here.” 

‘^Ox-fences! then he does not know what a wall is.” 

Devil a bit; but we’ll teach him.” 

That we will,” said I, with as bitter a resolution to impart the 
instruction, as ever schoolmaster did to whip Latin grammar into 
one of the great unbreeched. 

<‘But I had better send the horses down to the Mill,” said Mat 
thew ; “ we’ll draw that cover first.” 

So saying, he turned towards the stable, while I sauntered alone 
towards the road, by which I expected the huntsman. I had not 
walked half-a-mile before I heard the yelping of the dogs, and, a 
little farther on, I saw old Brackely coming along at a brisk trot, 
cutting the hounds on each side, and calling after the stragglers. 

“Did you see my horse on the road, Brackely?” said I. 

“ I did, Misther Charles, and troth I’m sorry to see him ; sure 
yerself knows better than to take out the Badger, the best steeple- 
chaser in Ireland, in such a country as this ; nothing but awkward 
stone-fences, and not a foot of sure ground in the whole of it.” 

“ I know it well, Brackely; but I have my reasons for it.” 

“ Well, maybe you have; what cover will yer honour try first?” 

“ They talk of the Mill,” said I, “but I’d much rather try ‘Mor- 
ran-a-Gowl.’ ” 

“ Morran-a-Gowl ! do you want to break your neck entirely ?” 

^‘No, Brackely, not mine.” 

“Wliose then, alannah?” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


19 


“An English Captain’s, the devil fly away with him ; he’s come 
down here to-day, and from all I can see is a most impudent fellow ; 
so Brackely 

“ I understand ; well, leave it to me, and, though I don’t like 
the ould deer-park wall on the hill, we’ll try it this morning with 
the blessing; I’ll take him down by Woodford, over the ‘Devil’s 
Mouth,’ — it’s eighteen feet wide this minute with the late rains ; 
into the four callows, then over the stone walls, down to Dangan ; 
then take a short cast up the hill, blow him a bit, and give him the 
park wall at the top. You must come in then fresh, and give him 
the whole run home over Sleibhmich — the Badger knows it all — 
and takes the road always in a fly ; a mighty distressing thing for 
the horse that follows, more particularly if he does not understand 
a stone country. Well, if he lives through this, give him the sunk 
fence and the stone wall at Mr. Blake’s clover-field, for the hounds 
will run into the fox about there ; and though we never ride that 
leap since Mr. Malone broke his neck at it, last October, yet, upon 
an occasion like this, and for the honour of Galway .” 

“ To be sure, Brackely, and here’s a guinea for you ; and now 
trot on towards the house, they must not see us together, or they 
might suspect something. But, Brackely,” said I, calling out after 
him, “if he rides at all fair, what’s to be done ?” 

“ Troth then, myself doesn’t know ; there’s nothing so bad west 
of Athlone ; have ye a great spite agin him ?” 

“ I have,” said I, fiercely. 

“Could ye coax a fight out of him.” 

“ That’s true,” said I, “ and now ride on as fast as you can.” 

Brackley’s last words imparted a lightness to my heart and my 
step, and I strode along a very difierent man from what I had left 
the house half an hour previously. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE HUNT. 

Although we had not the advantages of a “ southerly wind 
and clouded sky,” the day, towards noon, became strongly over- 
cast, and promised to afford us good scenting weather, and as we 
assembled at the meet, mutual congratulations were exchanged 
upon the improved appearance of the day. Young Blake had 
provided Miss Dashwood with a quiet and well-trained horse, and 
his sisters were all mounted, as usual, upon their own animals, 
giving to our turn-out quite a gay and lively aspect. I myself 
came to cover upon a hackney, having sent Badger with a groom, 
and longed ardently for the moment when, casting the skin of my 


20 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


great-coat and overalls, I should appear before the world in my 
well-appointed “ cords and tops.’’ Captain Hammersly had not 
as yet made his appearance, and many conjectures were afloat as 
to whether “ he might have missed the road, or changed his mind,” 
or forgot all about it, as Miss Dashwood hinted. 

“ Who, pray, pitched upon this cover?” said Caroline Blake, as 
she looked with a practised eye over the country, on either side. 

‘‘ There is no chance of a fox, late in the day, at the mills,” said 
the huntsman, inventing a lie for the occasion. 

“ Then of course you never intend us to see much of the sport, 
for- after you break cover, you are entirely lost to us.” 

I thought you always followed the hounds,” said Miss Dash- 
wood, timidly. 

Oh, to be sure we do, in any common country ; but here it is 
out of the question — the fences are too large for any one, and, if I 
am not mistaken, these gentlemen will not ride far over this ; there, 
look yonder, where the river is rushing down the hill — that stream 
widening as it advances, crosses the cover nearly mid-way ; well, 
they must clear that, and then you may see these walls of large 
loose stones, nearly five feet in height ; that is the usual course the 
fox takes, unless he heads towards the hills, and goes towards 
Dangan, and then there’s an end of it ; for the deer park wall is 
usually a pull up to every one, except, perhaps, to our friend 
Charley there, who has tried his fortune against drowning more 
than once there.” 

“ Look, here he comes,” said Matthew Blake, and looking 
splendidly too — a little too much in flesh, perhaps, if any thing.” 

Captain Hammersly,” said the four Miss Blakes in a breath, 
where is he ?” 

No, it’s the Badger I’m speaking of,” said Matthew, laughing, 
and pointing with his finger towards a corner of the field where 
my servant was leisurely throwing down a wall about two feet 
high to let him pass. 

“ Oh, how handsome — what a charger for a dragoon,” said Miss 
Dashwood. 

Any other mode of praising my steed, would have been much 
more acceptable. The word dragoon was a thorn in my tenderest 
part that rankled and lacerated at every stir. In a moment I was 
in the saddle, and scarcely seated when at once all the manvaise 
honte of boyhood left me, and I felt every inch a man. I often 
look back to that moment of my life, and, comparing it with many 
similar ones, cannot help acknowledging how purely is the self- 
possession which so often wins success, the result of some slight 
and trivial association. My confidence in my horsemanship 
suggested moral courage of a very different kind, and I felt that 
Charles O’Malley curvetting upon a thorough bred and the 
same man ambling upon a shelty were two and very dissimilar 
individuals. 

“ No chance of the Captain,” said Matthew, wlio had returned 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


21 


from a reconnaissance upon the road, “ and after all it’s a pity, for 
the day is getting quite favourable.” 

While the young ladies formed picquets to look out for the gallant 
mint air e, I seized the opportunity of prosecuting my acquaintance, 
with Miss Dashwood ; and, even in the few and passing observa 
tions that fell from her, learned how very different an order of 
being she was from all I had hitherto seen of country belles. A 
mixture of courtesy with naivete — a wish to please, with a certain 
feminine gentleness, that always flatters a man, and still more a 
boy that fain would be one — gained momentarily more and more 
upon me, and put me also on my mettle to prove to my fair com- 
panion that I was not altogether a mere uncultivated and unthink- 
ing creature like the remainder of those about me. 

‘‘ Here he is, at last,” said Helen Blake, as she cantered across 
a field, waving her handkerchief as a signal to the Captain, who 
was now seen approaching at a brisk trot. 

As he came along, a small fence intervened ; he pressed his horse 
a little, and, as he kissed hands to the fair Helen, cleared it in a 
bound, and was in an instant in the midst of us. 

He sits his horse like a man, Misther Charles,” said the old 
huntsman : “ troth we must give him the worst bit of it.” 

Captain Hammersly was, despite all the critical acumen with 
which I canvassed him, the very beau ideal of a gentleman rider, 
indeed, although a very heaVy man, his powerful English thorough- 
bred, showing not less bone than blood, took away all semblance 
of over-weight ; his saddle, well fitting and well placed ; his large 
and broad-reigned snaffle ; his own costume of black coat, leathers, 
and tops, was in perfect keeping, and even to his heavy handled 
hunting-whip, I could find nothing to cavil at. As he rode up he 
paid his respects to the ladies, in his usual free and easy manner, 
expressed some surprise, but no regret, at hearing that he was late, 
and never deigning any notice ojf Matthew or myself, took his 
place beside Miss Dashwood, with whom he conversed in a low 
and under tone. 

There they go,” said Matthew, as five or six dogs, with their 
heads up, lan yelping along a furrow, then stopped, howled again, 
and once more set off together. In an instant all was commotion 
in the little valley below us. The huntsman, with his hand to his 
mouth, was calling off the stragglers, and the whipper-in following 
up the leading dogs with the rest of the pack. They’re found ! 
— they’re away !” said Matthew ; and, as he spoke, a great yell 
burst from the valley, and in an instant the whole pack were off 
at speed. Rather more intent that moment upon showing off my 
horsemanship than any thing else, I dashed spurs into Badger’s 
sides, and turned him towards a rasping ditch before me ; over we 
went, hurling down behind us a rotten bank of clay and small 
stones, showing how little safety there had been in topping instead 
of clearing it at a bound. Before I was well seated again, the 
Captain was beside me. Now, for it, then,” said I, and awa^^ 


22 


CHARLES o’MALLEr, 


we went. What might be the nature of his feelings I cannot pre- 
tend to state, but my own were a strange melange of wild boyish 
enthusiasm, revenge, and recklessness. For my own neck I cared 
little — nothing ; and as I led the way by half a length, I muttered 
to myself, “ Let him follow me fairly this day, and I ask no more.’^ 

The dogs had got somewhat the start of us, and, as they were 
in full cry, and going fast, we were a little behind. A thought 
therefore struck me that, by appearing to take a short cut upon the 
hounds, I should come down upon the river where its breadth was 
greatest, and thus at one coup might try my friend’s mettle and 
his horse’s performance at the same time. On we went, our speed 
increasing, till the roar of the river we were now approaching was 
plainly audible. 1 looked half round, and now perceived that the 
Captain was standing in his stirrups, as if to obtain a view of what 
was before him; otherwise his countenance was calm and im- 
moved, and not a muscle betrayed that he was not cantering on a 
parade. I fixed myself firmly in my seat, shook my horse a little 
together, and, with a shout whose import every Galway hunter 
well knows, rushed him at the river. I saw the water dashing 
among the large stones, I heard its splash, I felt a bound like the 
ricochet of a shot, and we were over, but so narrowly, that the 
bank had yielded beneath his hind legs, and it needed a bold efibrt 
of the noble animal to regain his footing. Scarcely was he once 
more firm, when Hammersly flew by me, taking the lead, and sit- 
ting quietly in his saddle, as if racing. I know of nothing in all 
my after life like the agony of that moment; for, although I was 
far, very far, from wishing real ill to him, yet I would gladly have 
broken my leg or my arm if he could not have been able to follow 
me. And now there he was, actually a length and a half in ad- 
vance; and, worse than all. Miss Dashwood must have witnessed 
the whole, and doubtless his leap over the river was better and 
bolder than mine. One consolation yet remained, and while 1 
whispered it to myself I felt comforted again. His is an English 
mare — they understand these leaps — but what can he make of a 
Galway wall?” The question was soon to be solved. Before us, 
about three fields were the hounds still in full cry ; a large stone wall 
lay between, and to it we both directed our course together. Ha ! 
thought I, he is floored at last, as I perceived that the captain held 
his horse rather more in hand, and suffered me to lead. “ Now, 
then, for it!” so saying I rode at the largest part I could find, well 
knowing that Badger’s powers were here in their element. One 
spring, one plunge, and away we were, galloping along at the 
other side. Not so the Captain; his horse had refused the fence, 
and he was now taking a circuit of the field for another trial of it. 

Pounded, by Jove,” said I, as I turned round in my saddle to 
observe him. Once more she came at it, and once more baulked, 
rearing up at the same time, almost so as to fall backward. 

My triumph was complete, and I again was about to follow the 
hounds; when, throwing a lookback, I saw Hammersly clearing 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


23 


the wall in a most splendid manner, and taking a stretch of at least 
thirteen feet beyond it. Once more he was on my flanks, and the 
contest renewed. Whatever might be the sentiments of the riders, 
(mine I confess to,) between the horses it now became a tremen- 
dous struggle. The English mare, though evidently superior in 
stride and strength, was still overweighted, and had not besides 
that cat-like activity an Irish horse possesses ; so that the advan- 
tages and disadvantages on either side were about equalized. For 
about an half an hour now the pace was awful. We rode side by 
side, taking our leaps exactly at the same instant, and not four feet 
apart. The hounds were still considerably in advance, and were 
heading towards the Shannon, when suddenly the fox doubled, 
took the hill side, and made for Dangan. Now, then, comes the 
trial of strength, I said half aloud, as I threw my eye up a steep 
and rugged mountain, covered with wild furze and tall heath, around 
the crest of which ran, in a zig-zag direction, a broken and dilapi- 
dated wall, once the enclosure of a deer-park. This wall, which 
varied from four to six feet in height, was of solid masonry, and 
would, in the most favourable ground, have been a bold leap 
Here, at the summit of a mountain, with not a yard of footing, it 
was absolutely desperation. 

By the time that we reached the foot of the hill, the fox, followed 
closely by the hounds, had passed through a breach in the wall, 
while Matthew Blake, with the huntsman and whipper-in, were 
riding along in search of a gap to lead the horses through. Before 
I put spurs to Badger, to face the hill, I turned one look towards 
Hammersly. There was a slight curl, half-smile, half-sneer upon 
his lip, that actually maddened me, and had a precipice yawned 
beneath my feet, I should have dashed at it after that. The ascent 
was so steep that I was obliged to take the hill in a slanting di- 
rection, and even thus, the loose footing rendered it dangerous in 
the extreme. At length I reached the crest, where the wall, more 
than five feet in height, stood frowning above and seemed to defy 
me. I turned my horse full round, so that his very chest almost 
touched the stones, and, with a bold cut of the whip and a loud 
halloo, the gallant animal rose, as if rearing, pawed for an instant 
to regain his balance, and then with a frightful struggle fell back- 
wards, and rolled from top to bottom of the hill, carrying me along 
with him ; the last object that crossed my sight, as I lay bruised 
and motionless, being the Captain as he took the wall in a flying 
leap, and disappeared at the other side. After a few scrambling 
eflbrts to rise. Badger regained his legs, and stood beside me; but 
such was the shock and concussion of my fall, that all the objects 
around me seemed wavering and floating before me, while showers 
of bright sparks fell in myriads before my eyes. I tried to rise, but 
fell back helpless. Cold perspiration broke over my forehead, and 
I fainted. From that moment I can remember nothing, till I felt 
myself galloping along at full speed upon a level table land, with 
the hounds about three fields in advance, Hammersly riding fore- 


24 


CHARLES O^MALLETj 


most, and taking all his leaps coolly as ever. As I swayed to either 
side upon my saddle, from weakness, I was lost to all thought or 
recollection, save a flickering memory of some plan of vengeance 
which still urged me forward. The chase had now lasted above 
an hour, and both hounds and horses began to feel the pace they 
were going. As for me, I rode mechanically ; I neither knew nor 
cared for the dangers before me. My eye rested on but one object ; 
my whole being was concentrated upon one vague and undeter- 
mined sense of revenge. At this instant the huntsman came along 
side of me. 

Are you hurted, Misther Charles ? did you fall ? — your cheek 
is all blood, and your coat is torn in two ; and. Mother o’ God, his 
boot is ground to powder ; he does not hear me. Oh, pull up — 
pull, for the love of the Virgin ; there’s the clover field, and the 
sunk fence before you, and you’ll be killed on the spot.” 

Where ?” cried I, with the cry of a madman, “ where’s the clo- 
ver field? — where’s the sunk fence ? Ha! I see it — I see it now.” 

So saying, I dashed the rowels into my horse’s flanks, and in an 
instant was beyond the reach of the poor fellow’s remonstrances. 
Another moment, I was beside the Captain. He turned round as 
I came up ; the same smile was upon his mouth — could have 
struck him. About three hundred yards before us lay the sunk 
fence ; its breadth was about twenty feet, and a wall of close 
brickwork formed its face. Over this the hounds were now clam- 
bering ; some succeeded in crossing, but by far the greater number 
fell back howling into the ditch. 

I turned towards Hammersly. — He was standing high in his 
stirrups, and, as he looked towards the yawning fence, down which 
the dogs were tumbling in masses, I thought (perhaps it was but 
a thought,) that his cheek was paler. I looked again, he was pull- 
ing at his horse ; ha ! it was true then, he would not face it. I 
turned round in my saddle — looked him full in the face, and, as I 
pointed with my whip to the leap, called out with a voice hoarse 
with passion, come on.” I saw no more. All objects were lost 
to me from that moment. When next my senses cleared I was 
standing amid the dogs, where they had just killed. Badger stood 
blown and trembling beside me, his head drooping, and his flanks 
gored with spur marks. I looked about, but all consciousness of 
the past had fled ; the concussion of my fall had shaken my intel- 
lect, and I was like one but half awake. One glimpse, short and 
fleeting, of what was taking place, shot through my brain, as old 
Brackely whispered to me, “ By my soul ye did for the Captain 
there.” I turned a vague look upon him, and my eyes fell upon 
the figure of a man that lay stretched and bleeding upon a door 
before me. His pale face was crossed with a purple stream of 
blood, that trickled from a wound beside his eye-brow ; his arms 
lay motionless and heavily at either side. I knew him not. A 
loud report of a pistol aroused me from my stupor ; I looked back. 
I saw a crowd that broke suddenly asunder and fled right and left. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


25 


I heard a heavy crash upon the ground, I pointed with my finger, 
for I could not utter a word. 

It is the English mare, yer honour ; she was a beauty this 
morning, but she’s broke her collar bone, and both her legs, and it 
was best to put her out of pain.” 


CHAPTER V. 

THE DRAWING-ROOM. 

On the fourth day following the adventure detailed in the last 
chapter, I made my appearance in the drawing-room ; my cheek 
well blanched by copious bleeding, and my steps tottering and un- 
certain. On entering the room I looked about in vain for some 
one who might give me an insight into the occurrences of the four 
preceding days, but no one was to be met with. The ladies, I 
learned, were out riding ; Matthew was buying a new setter ; Mr. 
Blake was canvassing; and Captain Hammersly was in bed. 
Where was Miss Dash wood? — in her room ; and Sir George ? he 
was with Mr. Blake. 

‘‘ What ! canvassing too ?” 

“ Troth that same was possible,” was the intelligent reply of the 
old butler, at which I could not help smiling. I sat down there- 
fore in the easiest chair I could find, and, unfolding the county 
paper, resolved upon learning how matters were going on in the 
political world. But, somehow, whether the editor was not bl:il- 
liant, or the fire was hot, or that my own dreams were pleasanter to 
indulge in than his fancies, I fell sound asleep. 

How differently is the mind attuned to the active busy world 
of thought and action, when awakened from sleep by any sudden 
and rude summons to arise and be stirring, and when called into 
existence by the sweet and silvery notes of softest music, stealing 
over the senses, and while they impart awakening thoughts of bliss 
and beauty scarcely dissipating the dreary influence of slumber ; 
such was my first thought as, with closed lids, the thrilling cords 
of a harp broke upon my sleep, and aroused me to a feeling of 
unutterable pleasure. I turned gently round in my chair, and 
beheld Miss Dashwood. She was seated in a recess of an old- 
fashioned window ; the pale yellow glow of a wintery sun at 
evening fell upon her beautiful hair, and tinged it with such a light 
as I have often since then seen in Rembrandt’s pictures ; her head 
leaned upon the harp, and as she struck its cords at random, I saw 
that her mind was far away from all around her ; as I looked, she 
suddenly started from her leaning attitude, and, parting back her 
4 C 


26 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


curls from her brow, she preluded a few chords, and then sighed 
forth, rather than sang, that most beautiful of Moore’s Melodies, — 

“ She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps.” 

Never before had such pathos, such deep utterance of feeling, met 
my astonished sense ; I listened breathlessly as the tears fell one by 
one down my cheek ; my bosom heaved and fell ; and, when she 
ceased, I hid my head between my hands and sobbed aloud. In 
an instant she was beside me, and placing her hand upon my 
shoulder, said. 

Poor dear boy, I never suspected you of being there, or I should 
not have sung that mournful air.” 

I started and looked up, and, from what I know not, but she 
suddenly crimsoned to her very forehead, while she added in a less 
assured tone, 

“ I hope, Mr. O’Malley, that you are much better, and I trust 
there is no imprudence in your being here.” 

“For the latter I shall not answer,” said I, with a sickly smile ; 
“but already I feel your music has done me service.” 

“ Then, pray let me sing more'for you.” 

“ If I am to have a choice, I should say, sit down and let me 
hear you talk to me ; my illness and the doctor together have made 
wild work of my poor brain ; but, if you will, talk to me.” 

“ Well then, what shall it be about ? — Shall I tell you a fairy 
tale !” 

“ I need it not : I feel I am in one this instant.” 

“ Well, then, what say you to a legend, for I am rich in my stores 
of them?” 

“The O’Malleys have their chronicles, wild and barbarous 
enough, without the aid of Thor and Woden.” 

“ Then shall we chat of every-day matters ? — Should you like 
to hear how the election and the canvass goes on ?” 

“Yes; of ail things.” 

“Well, then, most favourably. Two baronies, with most un- 
speakable names, have declared for us, and confidence is rapidly 
increasing among our party. This I learned by chance yesterday 
— for Papa never permits us to know any thing of these matters ; 
not even the names of the candidates.” 

“ Well, that was the very point I was coming to, for the govern- 
ment were about to send down some one, just as I left home ; and 
I am most anxious to learn who it is.” 

“ Then am I utterly valueless ; for I really can’t say what party 
the government espouses, and only know of our own.” 

“ Quite enough for me, that you wish it success,” said I, gallantly, 
“ perhaps, you can tell me if my uncle has heard of my accident?” 

“ Oh yes ; but somehow, he has not been here himself; but sent 
a friend, a Mr. Considine, I think ; a very strange person he seemed. 
He demanded to see Papa, and, it seems, asked him if your misfor- 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


27 


tune had been a thing of his contrivance, and whether he was 
ready to explain his conduct about it ; and in fact, I believe he is 
mad’’ — 

“ Heaven confound him,” I muttered between my teeth. 

And then he wished to have an interview with Captain Ham- 
mersly, but he is too ill ; but as the doctor hoped that he might be 
down stairs in a week, Mr. Considine kindly hinted that he should 
wait.” 

Oh then, do tell me how is the Captain?” 

Very much bruised, Very much disfigured, they say,” said she, 
half smiling ; but not so much hurt in body as in mind.” 

As how, may I ask?” said I, with an appearance of innocence. 

“ I don’t exactly understand it ; but it would appear that there 
was something like rivalry among you gentlemen chasseurs on that 
luckless morning, and that, while you paid the penalty of a broken 
head, he was destined to lose his horse, and break his arm.” 

“ I certainly am sorry — most sincerely sorry, for any share I 
might have had in the catastrophe ; and my greatest regret, I con- 
fess, arises from the fact, that I should cause you unhappiness.” 

— pray explain?” 

Why, as Captain Hammersly — ” 

‘‘ Mr. O’Malley, you are too young now, to make me suspect 
you have an intention to offend ; but I caution you, never repeat 
this.” 

I saw that I had transgressed, but how, I most honestly confess, 
I could not guess ; for though I certainly was the senior of my fair 
companion in years, I was most lamentably her junior in tact and 
discretion. 

The gray dusk of evening had long fallen as we continued to 
chat together beside the blazing wood embers — she evidently 
amusing herself with the original notions of an untutored unlettered 
boy ; and I drinking deep those draughts of love that nerved my 
heart through many a breach and battle field. 

Our colloquy was at length interrupted by the entrance of Sir 
George, who shook me most cordially by the hand, and made the 
kindest inquiries about my health. 

They tell me you are to be a lawyer, Mr. O’Malley,” said he; 
“ and if so, I must advise you taking better care of your head-piece.” 

A lawyer. Papa ; oh dear me ! I should never have thought 
of his being any thing so stupid.” 

« Why, silly girl, what would you have a man be?” 

A dragoon, to be sure, papa,” said the fond girl, as she pressed 
her arm around his manly figure, and looked up in his face, with 
an expression of mingled pride and affection. 

That word sealed my destiny. 


28 


CHARLES o’mALLET, 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE DINNER. 

When I retired to my room to dress for dinner, I found my 
servant waiting with a note from my uncle, to which, he informed 
me, the messenger expected an answer. 

I broke the seal and read : — 

‘‘Dear Charley, 

“ Do not lose a moment in securing old Blake — if you have not 
already done so, as information has just reached me that the govern- 
ment party has promised a cornetcy to young Matthew, if he can 
bring over his father. And these are the people I have been voting 
with — a few private cases excepted — for thirty odd years ! 

“ I am very sorry for your accident. Considine informs me that 
it will need explanation at a later period. He has been in Athlone 
since Tuesday, in hopes to catch the new candidate on his way 
down, and get him into a little private quarrel before the day ; if he 
succeed, it will save the county much expense, and conduce greatly 
to the peace and happiness of all parties. But, ‘ these things,’ as 
Father Roach says, ‘are in the hands of Providence.’ You must 
also persuade old Blake to write a few lines to Simon Mallock, 
about the Coolnamuck mortgage. We can give him no satisfaction 
at present, at least such as he looks for, and don’t be philandering 
any longer where you are, when your health permits a change of 
quarters. “ Your affectionate uncle, 

“Godfrey O’Malley.” 

“ P. S. — I have just heard from Considine ; he was out this morn- 
ing and shot a fellow in the knee, but finds that after all he was 
not the candidate, but a tourist that was writing a book about Con- 
nemara. 

P. S. No. 2. — Bear the mortgage in mind, for old Mallock is a 
spiteful fellow, and has a grudge against me, since I horsewhipped 
his son in Banagher. Oh, the world, the world ! — G. O’M.” 

Until I had read this very clear epistle to the end, I had no very 
precise conception how completely I had forgotten all my uncle’s 
interests, and neglected all his injunctions. Already five days had 
elapsed, and I had not as much as mooted the question to Mr. 
Blake, and probably all this time my uncle was calculating on the 
thing as concluded ; but, with one holo in my head, and some 
half-dozen in my heart, my memory was none of the best. 

Snatching up the letter, therefore, I resolved to lose no more 
time ; and proceeded at once to Mr. Blake’s room, expecting that 
I should, as the event proved, find him engaged in the very laborious 
duty of making his toilette. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


29 


“Come in, Charley,’’ said he, as I tapped gently at the door; 
“ it’s only Charley, my darling ; Mrs. B. won’t mind you.” 

“ Not the least in life,” responded Mrs, B., disposing, at the same 
time, a pair of her husband’s corduroys, tippet fashion, across her 
ample shoulders, which before were displayed in the plenitude and 
breadth of colouring we find in a Rubens. “ Sit down, Charley, 
and tell us what’s the matter.” 

As, until this moment, I was in perfect ignorance of the Adam 
and Eve-like simplicity in which the private economy of Mr. Blake’s 
household was conducted, I would have gladly retired from what 
I found to be a mutual territory of dressing-room, had not Mr. 
Blake’s injunctions been issued somewhat like an order to remain. 

“ It’s only a letter, sir,” said I, stuttering, “ from my uncle, about 
the election. He says that, as his majority is now certain, he 
should feel better pleased in going to the poll with all the family, 
you know, sir, along with him. He wishes me just to sound your 
intentions — to make out how you feel disposed towards him ; and — 
and, faith, as I am but a poor diplomatist, I thought the best way 
was to come straight to the point and tell you so.” 

“I perceive,” said Mr. Blake, giving his chin at the moment, an 
awful gash with the razor, “ I perceive, go on.” 

“ Well, sir, I have little more to say ; my uncle knows what 
influence you have in Scariff, and expects you’ll do what you can 
there.” 

“ Any thing more ?” said Blake, with a very dry and quizzical 
expression, I didn’t half like, “ any thing more ?” 

“ Oh, yes, you are to write a line to old Mallock.” 

“ I understand, about Coolnamuck, isn’t it ?” 

“ Exactly ; I believe that’s all.” 

“ Well now, Charley, you may go down stairs, and we’ll talk it 
over after dinner.” 

“Yes, Charley, dear, go down, for I’m going to draw on my 
stockings,” said the fair Mrs. Blake, with a look of very modest 
consciousness. 

When I had left the room I couldn’t help muttering a “ thank 
God,” for the success of a mission I more than once feared for, 
and hastened to despatch a note to my uncle, assuring him of the 
Blake interest, and adding that, for propriety sake, I should defer 
my departure for a day or two longer. 

This done, with a heart lightened of its load, and in high spirits 
at my cleverness, I descended to the drawing-room. Here a very 
large party were already assembled, and, at every opening of th0 
door, a new relay of Blakes, Burkes, and Bodkins, was introduced. 
In the absence of the host. Sir George Dashwood was “ making 
the agreeable” to the guests, and shook hands with every new 
arrival, with all the warmth and cordiality of old friendship. 
While thus he inquired for various absent individuals, and asked, 
most affectionately, for sundry aunts, and uncles, not forthcoming, 
a slight incident occurred, which, by its ludicrous turn, served to 

C2 


30 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


shorten tbe long half hour before dinner. An individual of the 
party, a Mr. Blake, had, from certain peculiarities of face, obtained, 
in his boyhood, the soubriquet of shave the wind.’’ This hatchet- 
like conformation had grown with his growth, and perpetuated 
upon him a nick-name, by which alone was he ever spoken of among 
his friends and acquaintances ; the only difference being that, as 
he came to man’s estate, brevity, that soul of wit, had curtailed the 
epithet to mere shave.” Now, Sir G-eorge had been hearing 
frequent references made to him, always by this name, heard him 
ever so addressed, and perceived him to reply to it ; so that, when 
he was himself asked by some one, what sport he had found that 
day among the woodcocks, he answered at once, with a bow of 
very grateful acknowledgment, Excellent, indeed ; but entirely 
owing to where I was placed in the copse; had it not been for 
Mr. Shave, there, ” 

I need not say that the remainder of his speech, being heard on 
all sides, became one universal shout of laughter, in which, to do 
him justice, the excellent Shave himself heartily joined. Scarcely 
were the sounds of mirth lulled into an apparent calm, when the 
door opened, and the host and hostess appeared. Mrs. Blake ad- 
vanced in all the plenitude of her charms, arrayed in crimson satin, 
sorely injured in its freshness by a patch of grease upon the front, 
about the same size and shape as the Continent of Europe, in 
Arrowsmith’s Atlas ; a swansdown tippet covered her shoulders ; 
massive bracelets ornamented her wrists; while from her ears 
descended two, Irish diamond ear-rings, rivalling in magnitude and 
value the glass pendants of a lustre. Her reception of her guests 
made ample amends, in warmth and cordiality, for any deficiency 
of elegance ; and, as she disposed her ample proportions upon the 
sofa, and looked around upon the company, she appeared the very 
impersonation of hospitality. 

After several openings and shuttings of the drawing-room door, 
accompanied by the appearance of old Simon the Butler, who 
counted the party at least five times before he was certain that the 
score was correct ; dinner was at length announced. Now came 
a moment of difficulty; and one which, as testing Mr. Blake’s 
tact, he would gladly have seen devolve upon some other shoulders; 
for he well knew that the marshalling a room full of mandarins, 
blue, green, and yellow, was cakes and gingerbread” to ushexing 
a Galway party in to dinner. 

First then was Mr. Miles Bodkin, whose grandfather would have 
been a lord if Cromwell had not hanged him one fine morning. 
Then Mrs. Mosey Blake’s first husband was promised the title of 
Kilmacud if it was ever restored, whereas Mrs. French of Knock- 
tumnor’s mother was then at law for a title ; and lastly, Mrs. Joe 
Burke was fourth cousin to Lord Clanricarde, as is or will be every 
Burke from this to the day of judgment. Now, luckily for her 
prospects, the lord was alive ; and Mr. Blake, remembering a very 
sage adage, about “ dead lions,” &c., solved the difficulty at once, 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


31 


by gracefully tucking the lady under his arm, and leading the way; 
the others soon followed ; the priest of Portumna and my unworthy 
self bringing up the rear. 

When, many a year afterwards, the hard ground of a mountain 
bivouac, with its pitiful portion of pickled cork-tree, yclept mess- 
beef, and that pyroligneous aquafortis they call corn brandy, have 
been my hard fare, I often look back to that day’s dinner, with a 
most heart-yearning sensation — a turbot as big as the Waterloo 
shield ; a sirloin that seemed cut from the sides of a rhinoceros ; 
a sauce-boat that contained an oyster bed. There was a turkey 
which singly would have formed the main army of a French 
dinner, doing mere outpost duty — flanked by a picquet of ham, 
and a detached squadron of chickens carefully ambushed in a 
forest of greens : potatoes not disguised d, la maif re d’ hotel and tor- 
tured to resemble bad macaroni, but piled like shot in an ordnance 
yard, were posted at different quarters ; while massive decanters 
of port and sherry stood proudly up like standard bearers amid 
the goodly array. This was none of your austere “ great dinners,” 
where a cold and chilling plateau of artificial nonsense cuts off 
one half of the table from intercourse with the other; when 
whispered sentences constitute the conversation, and all the friendly 
recognition of wine-drinking, which renews acquaintance and 
cements an intimacy, is replaced by the ceremonious filling of your 
glass by a lacquey — where smiles go current in lieu of kind speeches, 
and epigram and smartness form the substitute for the broad jest 
and merry story. Far from it; here the company eat, drank, 
talked, laughed, did all but sing, and certainly enjoyed themselves 
heartily. As for me, I was little more than a listener, and such 
vras the crash of plates, the jingle of glasses, and the clatter of 
voices, that fragments only of what was passing around reached 
me ; giving to the conversation of the party a character occasion- 
ally somewhat incongruous. Thus, such sentences as the following 
ran foul of each other every instant : — 

No better land in Galway” — “ where could you find such fa- 
cilities” — for shooting Mr. Jones on his way home” — “ the truth, 
the whole truth, and nothing but the truth” — “ kiss” — ‘‘Miss Blake, 
she’s the girl with a foot and ankle” — Daly has never had wool 
on his sheep” — “how could he” — “what does he pay for the 
mountain” — “ four and ten pence a yard” — “ not a penny less” — 
“ all the cabbage stalks and potato skins, with some bog stuff through 
it” — “that’s the thing to” — “make soup, with a red herring in it 
instead of salt” — “ and when he proposed for my niece, ma’am, 
says he” — “ mix a strong tumbler, and Fll make a shake down for 
you on the floor” — “ and may the Lord have mercy on your soul” 
— “and now, down the middle and up again” — “ Captain Magan, 
my dear, he is the man” — to shave a pig properly” — ‘ht’s not 
money I’m looking for, says he, the girl of my heart” — “ if she had 
not a wind gall and two spavins” — Pd had given her the rights 


32 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


of the church, of course,’^ said Father Roach, bringing up the rear 
of this ill-assorted jargon. 

Such were the scattered links of conversation I was condemned to 
listen to, till a general rise on the part of the ladies left us alone to 
discuss our wine, and enter in goo^ earnest upon the more serious 
duties of the evening. 

Scarcely was the door closed, when one of the company, seizing 
the bell-rope, said, “ with your leave, Blake, we’ll have the ‘ dew’ 
now.” 

“Good claret — no better,” said another; “but it sits mighty cold 
on the stomach.” 

“ There’s nothing like the groceries, after all — eh. Sir George ?” 
said an old Galway squire to the English general, who acceeded 
to the fact, which he understood in a very different sense. 

“ Oh, punch, you are my darlin,” hummed another, as a large 
square half-gallon decanter of whisky was placed on the table — 
the various decanters of wine being now ignominiously sent down 
to the end of the board, without any evidence of regret on any 
face, save Sir George Dashwood’s, who mixed his tumbler with a 
very rebellious conscience. 

Whatever were the noise and clamour of the company before, 
they were nothing to what now ensued. As one party was dis- 
cussing the approaching contest, another was planning a steeple- 
chase ; while two individuals, unhappily removed from each other 
the entire length of the table, were what is called “ challenging 
each other’s effects,” in a very remarkable manner, the process so 
styled being an exchange of property, when each party setting an 
imaginary value upon some article, barters it for another, the 
amount of boot paid and received being determined by a third 
person, who is the umpire. Thus a gold breast-pin was swopped, 
as the phrase is, against a horse ; then a pair of boots, then a Kerry 
bull, &c., very imaginable species of property coming into the 
market. Sometimes as matters of very dubious value turned up ; 
great laughter was the result. In this very national pastime a 
Mr. Miles Bodkin, a noted fire-eater of the west, was a great pro- 
ficient, and, it is said, once so completly succeeded in dispoiling an 
uninitiated hand, that after winning in succession his horse, gig, 
harness, &c., he proceeded seriatim to his watch, ring, clothes, and 
portmanteau, and actually concluded by winning all he possessed, 
and kindly lent him a card cloth to cover him on his way to the 
hotel. His success on the present occasion was considerable, and 
his spirits proportionate. The decanter had thrice been replenished, 
and the flushed faces and thickened utterance of the guests evinced 
that from the cold properties of the claret there was little to dread. 
As for Mr. Bodkin, his manner was incapable of any higher flight, 
when under the influence of whisky, from what is evinced on 
common occasions ; and, as he sat at the end of the table, fronting 
Mr. Blake, he assumed all the dignity of the ruler of the feast, 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


33 


with an energy no one seemed disposed to question. In answer 
to some observations of Sir George, he was led into something like 
an oration upon the peculiar excellencies of his native county, 
which ended in a declaration that there was nothing like Galway. 

Why don’t you give us a song. Miles ? and maybe the general 
would learn more from it than all your speech-making.” 

To be sure,” cried out several voices, together j to be sure : 
let us hear the ‘ Man for Galway.’ ” 

Sir George having joined most warmly in the request, Mr. Bod- 
kin filled up his glass to the brim, bespoke a chorus to his chant, 
and, clearing his voice with a deep hem, began the following ditty, 
to the air which Moore has since rendered immortal, by the beau- 
tiful song Wreath the bowl,” &c. And although the words are 
well known in the west, for the information of less favoured regions, 
I here transcribe 

“ THE MAN FOR GALWAY.” 

“ To drink a toast, 

A proctor roast, 

Or bailiff, as the case is ; 

To kiss your wife. 

Or take your life 
At ten or fifteen paces ; 

To keep game cocks — to hunt the fox. 

To drink in punch the Solway, 

With debts galore, but fun far more ; 

Oh, that’s ‘ the man for Galway.’ 

“ Chorus — With debts, &c. 

‘ The king of Oude 
Is mighty proud. 

And so were onst the Caysars — (Caesars ;) 

But ould Giles Eyre 
Would make them stare, 

Av he had them with the Blazers. 

To the devil I fling— ould Rungeet Sing, 

He’s only a Prince in a small way. 

And knows nothing at all of a six foot wall ; 

Oh, he’d never ‘ do for Galway.’ 

“Ye think the Blakes 
Are no ‘ great shakes ;’ 

They’re all his blood relations. 

And the Bodkins sneeze 
At the grim Chineese, 

For they come from the Phenaycians ; 

So fill to the brim, and here’s to him 
Who’d drink in punch the Solway; 

With debts galore, but fun far more; 

Oh ! that’s ‘ the man for Galway.’ 

“ Chorus — With debts, &c.” 

I much fear that the reception of this very classic ode would not 
be as favourable in general companies as it was on the occasion I 
5 


34 


CHARLES O MALLEr, 


first heard it ; for certainly the applause was almost deafening ; 
and even Sir George, the defects of whose English education left 
some of the allusions out of his reach, was highly amused and 
laughed heartily. 

The conversation once more reverted to the election, and although 
I was too far from those who seemed best informed on the matter 
to hear much, I could catch enough to discover that the feeling was 
a confident one. This was gratifying to me, as I had some scruples 
about my so long neglecting my good uncle’s cause. 

We have Scariff to a man,” said Bodkin. 

“And Mosey’s tenantry,” said another; “ I swear that though 
there’s not a freehold registered on the estate, that they’ll vote, 
every mother’s son of them, or devil a stone of the court house 
they’ll leave standing on another.” 

“And may the Lord look to the Returning 01Rcer,”said a third, 
throwing up his eyes. 

“ Mosey’s tenantry are droll boys, and, like their landlord, more 
by token — they never pay any rent.” 

“And what for shouldn’t they vote?’ said a dry looking little 
old fellow in a red waistcoat : “ when I was the dead agent ” 

“ The dead agent,” interrupted Sir George, with a start. 

“ Just so,” said the old fellow, pulling down his spectacles from 
his forehead, and casting a half-angry look at Sir George, for what 
he had suspected to be a doubt of his veracity. 

“ The General does not know, maybe, what that is,” said some 
one. 

“ You have just anticipated me,” said Sir George ; “I really am 
in most profound ignorance.” 

“ It is the dead agent,” says Mr. Blake, “ who also provides sub- 
stitutes for any voters that may have died since the last election. 
A very important fact in statistics may thus be gathered from the 
poll books of this county, which proves it to be the healthiest 
part of Europe — a freeholder has not died in it for the last fifty 
years.” 

“ The ‘ Kiltopher boys’ wont come this time — they say there’s 
no use trying to vote, when so many were transported last assizes 
for perjury.” 

“ They’re poor-spirited creatures,” said another. 

“ Not they — they are as decent boys as any we have — ^they’re 
willing to wreck the town for fifty shillings worth of spirits ; besides, 
if they don’t vote for the county, they will for the borough.” 

This declaration seemed to restore these interesting individuals 
to favour, and now all attention was turned towards Bodkin, who 
was detailing the plan of a grand attack upon the polling booths, 
to be headed by himself. By this time all the prudence and guard- 
edness of the party had given way — whisky was in the ascendant, 
and every bold stroke of election policy, every cunning artifice, 
every ingenious device, was detailed and applauded, in a manner 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


35 


which proved that self-respect was not the inevitable gift of « moun- 
tain dew.’ 

The mirth and fun grew momentarily more boisterous, and 
Miles Bodkin, who had twice before been prevented proposing 
some toast, by a telegraphic signal from the other end of the table, 
now swore that nothing should prevent him any longer, and rising 
with a smoking tumbler in his hand, delivered himself as follows: 

No, no, Phil. Blake, ye needn’t be winkin’ at me that way— 
It’s little I care for the spawn of the ould serpent.” [Here great 
cheers greeted the speaker, in which, without well knowing why, 
I heartily joined.] I’m going to give you a toast, boys — a real 
good toast — none of your sentimental things about wall-flowers, 
or the vernal equinox, or that kind of thing, but a sensible, patriotic, 
manly, intrepid toast ; a toast you must drink in the most universal, 
laborious, and awful manner — do ye see now ?” — [Loud cheers.] 
If any man of you here present doesn’t drain this toast to the 
bottom — [here the speaker looked fixedly at me, as did the rest 
of the company,] — then, by the great gun of Athlone, I’ll make 
him eat the decanter, glass, stopper, and all, for the good of his 
digestion — d’ye see now.” 

The cheering at this mild determination prevented my hearing 
what followed ; but the peroration consisted in a very glowing 
eulogy upon some person unknown, and a speedy return to him as 
member for Galway. Amid all the noise and tumult at this critical 
moment, nearly every eye at the table was turned upon me, and, 
as I concluded that they had been drinking my uncle’s health, I 
thundered away at the mahogany with all my energy. At length, 
the hip, hipping, over, and comparative quiet restored, I rose from 
my seat to return thanks — but, strange enough. Sir George Dash- 
wood did so likewise, and there we both stood amid an uproar 
that might well have shaken the courage of more practised orators ; 
while from every side came cries of ‘^hear, hear” — “ go, on. Sir 
George” — ‘^speak out. General” — “sit down, Charley” — “confound 
the boy” — “ knock the legs from under him,” &c. Not understand- 
ing why Sir George should interfere with what I regarded as my 
peculiar duty, I resolved not to give way, and avowed this deter- 
mination in no very equivocal terms. “ In that case,” said the 
General, “ I am to suppose that the young gentleman moves an 
amendment to your proposition, and, as the etiquette is in his favour, 
I yield.” — Here he resumed his place, amid a most terrific scene 
of noise and tumult, while several humane proposals, as to my 
treatment, were made around me, and a kind suggestion thrown 
out to break my neck, by a near neighbour. Mr. Blake at length 
prevailed upon the party to hear what I had to say — for he was cer- 
tain I should not detain them above a minute. The commotion 
having in some measure subsided, I began — “Gentlemen, as the 
adopted son of the worthy man whose health you have just drunk.” 
Heaven knows how I should have continued — but here my 


36 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


eloquence was met by such a roar of laughing as I never before 
listened to ; from one end of the board to the other it was one 
continued shout, and went on too as if all the spare lungs of the 
party had been kept in reserve for the occasion. I turned from 
one to the other — I tried to smile, and seemed to participate in the 
joke, but failed — I frowned — I looked savagely about where I 
could see enough to turn my wrath thitherward ; and, as it chanced, 
not in vain ; for Mr. Miles Bodkin, with an intuitive perception 
of my wishes, most suddenly ceased his mirth, and, assuming a 
look of frowning defiance that had done him good service upon 
many former occasions, rose and said — 

“ Well, Sir, I hope you^re proud of yourself — you’ve made a 
nice beginning of it, and a pretty story you’ll have for your uncle. 
But if you’d like to break the news by a letter, the General will 
have great pleasure in franking it for you ; for by the rock of 
Cashel, we’ll carry him in against all the O’Malleys that ever 
cheated the sheriff.” 

Scarcely were the words uttered, when I seized my wine glass, 
and hurled it with all my force at his head ; so sudden was the 
act, and so true the aim, that Mr. Bodkin measured his length 
upon the floor ere his friends could appreciate his late eloquent 
effusion. The scene now became terrific; for, though the re- 
doubted Miles was hors de combat, his friends made a tremendous 
rush at, and would infallibly have succeeded in capturing me, had 
not Blake and four or five others interposed. Amid a desperate 
struggle which lasted for some minutes, I was torn from the spot, 
carried bodily up stairs, and pitched headlong into my own room, 
where having doubly locked the door on the outside, they left me 
to my own cool and not over-agreeable reflections. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


37 


CHAPTER VIL 

THE PLIGHT FROM GURTNAMORRA. 

It was by one of those sudden and inexplicable revulsions which 
occasionally restore to sense and intellect the maniac of years’ 
standing, that I was no sooner left alone in my chamber, than I 
became perfectly sober. The fumes of the wine — and I had 
drunk deeply — were dissipated at once ; my head, which but a 
moment before Avas half wild with excitement, was now cool, 
calm, and collected; and, stranger than all, I, who had only an 
hour since entered the dining-room with all the unsuspecting 
freshness of boyhood, became, by a mighty bound, a man — a 
man in all my feelings of responsibility, a man who, repelling an 
insult by an outrage, had resolved to stake his life upon the 
chance. In an instant a new era in life had opened before me — 
the light-headed gayety which fearlessness and youth impart was 
replaced by one absorbing thought — one all-engrossing, all-per- 
vading impression, that if I did not follow up my quarrel with 
Bodkin, I was dishonoured and disgraced ; my little knowledge of 
such matters not being sufficient to assure me that I was now 
the aggressor, and that any further steps in the affair should 
come from his side. 

So thoroughly did my own griefs ' occupy me, that I had no 
thought for the disappointment my poor uncle was destined to 
meet with in hearing that the Blake interest was lost to him, and 
the former breach between the families irreparably widened by 
the events of the evening. Escape was my first thought ; but 
how to accomplish it ? — the door, a solid one of Irish oak, doubly 
locked and bolted, defied all my efforts to break it open — the 
window was at least five-and-twenty feet from the ground, and 
not a tree near to swing into. I shouted, I called aloud, I opened 
the sash, and tried if any one outside were within hearing, but in 
vain. Weary and exhausted, I sat down upon my bed and 
ruminated over my fortunes. Vengeance, quick, entire, decisive 
vengeance I thirsted and panted for ; and every moment I lived 
under the insult inflicted on me, seemed an age of torturing and 
maddening agony. I rose with a leap, a thought had just oc- 
curred to me. I' drew the bed towards the window, and fasten- 
ing the sheet to one of the posts Avith a firm knot, I twisted it 
into a rope, and let myself doAvn to within about twelve feet of 
the ground, Avhen I let go my hold, and dropped upon the grass 
beneath, safe and uninjured ; a thin misty rain Avas falling, and I 
now perceived for the first time, that in my haste I had forgotten 


38 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


my hat : this thought, however, gave me little uneasiness, and I 
took my way towards the stable, resolving, if I could, to saddle 
my horse, and get off before any intimation of my escape reached 
the family. 

When I gained the yard, all was quiet and deserted : the ser- 
vants were doubtless enjoying themselves below stairs; and I 
met no one iii the way. I entered the stable, threw the saddle 
upon “ Badger,^’ and, before five minutes from my descent from 
the window, was galloping towards O’Malley Castle at a pace 
that defied pursuit, had any one thought of it. 

It was about five o’clock on a dark wintry morning, as I led 
my horse through the well-known defiles of out-houses and 
stables which formed the long line of offices to my uncle’s house. 
As yet no one was stirring, and as I wished to have my arrival 
a secret from the family, after providing for the wants of my 
gallant grey, I lifted the latch of the kitchen door, no other fas- 
tening being ever thought necessary, even at night, and gently 
groped my way towards the stairs : all was perfectly still, and 
the silence now recalled me to reflection as to what course I 
should pursue. It was all-important that my uncle should know 
nothing of my quarrel, otherwise he would inevitably make it 
his own, and, by treating me like a boy in the matter, give the 
whole affair the very turn I most dreaded. Then, as to Sir 
Harry Boyle, he would most certainly turn the whole thing into 
ridicule, make a good story, perhaps a song out of it, and laugh 
at my notions of demanding satisfaction. Considine, I knew, 
was my man; but, then, he was at Athlone — at least so my 
uncle’s letter mentioned: perhaps he might have returned; if not, 
to Athlone I should set off at once. So resolving, I stole noise- 
lessly up stairs and reached the door of the Count’s chamber : I 
opened it gently, and entered, and, though my step was almost 
imperceptible to myself, it was quite sufficient to alarm the watch- 
ful occupant of the room, who springing up in his bed, demanded 
gruffly, who’s there?” 

‘‘Charles, sir,” said I, shutting the door carefully, and ap- 
proaching his bed-side. “ Charles O’Malley, sir : I’m come to 
have a bit of your advice : and, as the affair won’t keep, I have 
been obliged to disturb you.” 

“Never mind, Charley,” said the Count: “sit down, there’s a 
chair somewhere near the bed — have you found it? There — 
well now, what is it ? What news of Blake ?” 

“Very bad, no worse ; but it is not exactly that I came about; 
I’ve got into a scrape, sir.” 

“ Run off with one of the daughters,” said Considine. “ By 
jingo, I knew what those affable devils would be after.” 

“ Not so bad as that,” said I, laughing: “ it’s just a row, a kind 
of squabble, something that must come ” 

“Ay, ay,” said the Count, brightening up, “say you so, 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


39 


Charley. Begad, the young ones will beat us all out of the field. 
Who is it with — not old Blake himself — how was it ? tell me all.” 

I immediately detailed the whole events of the preceding chap- 
ter, as well as his frequent interruptions would permit, and con- 
cluded by asking what further step was now to be taken, as I 
was resolved the matter should be concluded before it came to 
my uncle’s ears. 

There you are all right, quite correct, my boy ; but there are 
many points I should have wished otherwise in the conduct of 
the affair hitherto.” 

Conceiving that he was displeased at my petulance and bold- 
ness, I was about to commence a kind of defence, when he 
added — 

‘^Because, you see,” said he, assuming an oracular tone of 
voice, throwing a wine glass with or without wine, in a man’s 
face, is merely, as you may observe, a mark of denial and dis- 
pleasure at some observation he may have made, not in anywise 
intended to injure him, further than in the wound to his honour at 
being so insulted, for which, of course, he must subsequently call 
you out. Whereas, Charley, in the present case — the view I take 
is different ; the expression of Mr. Bodkin, as regards your uncle 
was insulting to a degree — gratuitously offensive, and warranting 
a blow. Therefore, my boy, you should, under such circum- 
stances, have preferred aiming at him with a decanter — a cut 
glass decanter, well aimed, and low, I have seen do effective ser- 
vice. However, as you remark, it was your first thing of the 
kind, I am pleased with you — ^very much pleased with you. Now 
then, for the next step so saying he arose from his bed, and, 
striking a light with a tinder-box, proceeded to dress himself as 
leisurely as if for a dinner party — talking all the while. 

I will just take Godfrey’s tax-cart and the roan mare on to 
Meelish ; put them up at the little inn — it is not above a mile 
from Bodkin’s — and I’ll go over and settle the thing for you : you 
must stay quiet till I come back, and not leave the house on any 
account. I’ve got a case of old broad barrels there that will 
answer you beautifully ; if you were any thing of a shot, I’d give 
you my own cross handles, but they’d only spoil your shooting.” 

I can hit a wine-glass in the stem at fifteen paces,” said I, 
rather nettled at the disparaging tone in which he spoke of my 
performance. 

“ I don’t care sixpence for that ; the wine-glass has no pistol in 
his hand. Take the old German, then ; see now, hold your pistol 
thus: no finger on the guard there, those two on the trigger. 
They are not hair triggers ; drop the muzzle a bit ; bend your 
elbow a trifle more ; sight your man outside your arm ; outside, 
mind, and take him in the hip, and, if anywhere higher, no mat- 
ter.” 

By this time the Count had completed his toilette, and, taking 


40 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


the small mahogany box, which contained his peace-makers, under 
his arm, led the way towards the stables. When he reached the 
yard, the only person stirring there was a kind of half-witted boy, 
who, being about the house, was employed to run of messages 
for the servants, walk a stranger’s horse, or to do any of the many 
petty services that regular domestics contrive always to devolve 
upon some adopted subordinate. He was seated upon a stone 
step, formerly used for mounting, and, though the day was scarcely 
breaking, and the weather severe and piercing, the poor fellow 
was singing an Irish song, in a low monotonous tone, as he chafed 
a curb chain between his hands, with some sand. As we came 
near he started up, and, as he pulled off his cap to salute us, gave 
a sharp and piercing glance at the Count, then at me ; then once 
more upon my companion, from whom his eyes were turned to the 
brass-bound box beneath his arm ; when, as if seized with a sud- 
den impulse, he started on his feet, and set off towards the house 
with the speed of a greyhound, not, however, before Considine’s 
practised eye had anticipated his plan; for, throwing down the 
pistol cases, he dashed after him, and in an instant had seized him 
by the collar. 

“It won’t do, Patsey,” said the Count, “you can’t double on 
me.” 

Oh Count, darlin,’ mister Considine avick, don’t do it, don’t 
now,” said the poor fellow, falling on his knees, and blubbering 
like an infant. 

“ Hold your tongue, you villain, or I’ll cut it out of your head,” 
said Considine. 

“And so I will ; but don’t do it, don’t for the love of .” 

“ Don’t do what, you whimpering scoundrel ? What does he 
think I’ll do ?” 

“ Don’t I know very well what you’re after, what your always 
after too? oh wirra, wirra!” Here he wrung his hands, and 
swayed himself backwards and forwards, a true picture of Irish 
grief. 

“ I’ll stop his blubbering,” said Considine, opening the box, and 
taking out a pistol, which he cocked leisurely, and pointed at the 
poor fellow’s head : “ another syllable now, and I’ll scatter your 
brains upon’ that pavement.” 

“ And do, and divel thank you ; sure it’s your trade.” 

The coolness of the reply threw us both off our guard so com- 
pletely, that we burst out into a hearty fit of laughing. 

“ Come, come,” said the Count at last; “this will never do, if he 
goes on this way, we’ll have the whole house about us. Come, 
then, harness the roan mare, and here’s half-a-crown for you.” 

“ I wouldn’t touch the best piece in your purse,” said the poor 
boy ; “ sure it’s blood-money, no less.” 

The words were scarcely spoken, when Considine seized him 
by the collar with one hand, and by the wrist with the other, and 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


41 


carried him over the yard to the stable, where, kicking open the 
door, he threw him on a heap of stones, adding, If you stir now, 
I’ll break every bone in your body a threat that seemed cer- 
tainly considerably increased in its terrors, from the rough grip he 
had already experienced, for the lad rolled himself up like a ball, 
and sobbed as if his heart were breaking. 

Very few minutes sufficed us now to harness the mare in the 
tax-cart, and, when all was ready, Considine seized the whip, and, 
locking the stable door upon Patsey, was about to get up, when a 
sudden thought struck him. “Charley,” said he, “that fellow 
will find some means to give the alarm ; we must take him with 
us.” So saying, he opened the door, and, taking the poor fellow 
by the collar, flung him at my feet in the tax-cart. 

We had already lost some time, and the roan mare was put to 
her fastest speed to make up for it. Our pace became, accordingly, 
a sharp one, and, as the road was bad, and the tax-cart “no 
patent inaudible,” neither of us spoke. To me this was a great 
relief : the events of the last few days had given them the sem- 
blance of years, and all the reflection I could muster was little 
enough to make any thing out of the chaotic mass — ^love, mischief, 
and misfortune — in which I had been involved since my leaving 
O’Malley Castle. 

“ Here we are, Charley,” said Considine, drawing up short at 
the door of a little country ale-house, or, in Irish parlance, shebeen, 
which stood at the meeting of four bleak roads, in a wild and 
barren mountain tract, beside the Shannon. “ Here we are, my 
boy! jump out and let us be stirring.” 

“ Here, Patsey, my man,^’ said the Count, unravelling the pros- 
trate and doubly-knotted figure at our feet ; “lend a band, Patsey.” 
Much to my astonishment, he obeyed the summons with alacrity, 
and proceeded to unharness the mare, with the greatest despatch. 
My attention was, however, soon turned from him to my own 
more immediate concerns, and I followed my companion into the 
house. 

“ Joe,” said the Count, to the host, “ is Mr. Bodkin up at the 
house this morning ?” 

“ He’s just passed this way, sir, with Mr. Malowney of Tillna- 
muck, in the gig, on their way from Mr. Blake’s. They stopped 
here to order horses to go over to O’Malley Castle, and the gossoon 
is gone to look for a pair.” 

“All right,” said Considine, and added in a whisper, “we’ve 
done it well, Charley, to be beforehand, or the governor would have 
found it all out, and taken the affair into his own hands. Now, all 
you’ve to do is, to stay quietly here till I come back, which will 
not be above an hour at farthest. Joe, send me the pony — ^keep 
an eye on Patsey, that he doesn’t play us a trick — the short way 
to Mr. Bodkin’s is through Scariff — ah, I know it well, good bye, 
Charley — ^by the Lord, we’ll pepper him.” 

6 d2 


42 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


These were the last words of the worthy Count as he closed 
the door behind him, and left me to my own not over agreeable 
reflections. Independently of my youth and perfect ignorance 
of the world, which left me unable to form any correct judgment 
on my conduct, I knew that I had taken a great deal of wine, and 
was highly excited when my unhappy collision with Mr. Bodkin 
occurred. Whether, then, I had been betrayed into any thing 
which could fairly have provoked his insulting retort or not, I 
could not remember ; and now my most afflicting thought was, 
what opinion might be entertained of me by those at Blake’s 
table ; and, above all, what Miss Dashwood herself would have, 
and what narrative of the occurrence would reach her. The 
great effort of my last few days had been to stand well in her 
estimation, to appear something better in feeling, something higher 
in principle, than the rude and unpolished squirearchy about me ; 
and now here was the end of it ! What would she, what could 
she think, but that I was the same punch-drinking, rowing, quar- 
relling bumpkin as those whom I had so lately been carefully 
endeavouring to separate myself from. How I hated myself for 
the excess to which passion had betrayed me, and how I detested 
my opponent as the cause of all my present misery. How very 
differently thought I, her friend, the Captain, would have conducted 
himself. His quiet and gentlemanly manner would have done 
fully as much to wipe out any insult on his honour as I could do, 
and, after all, would neither have disturbed the harmony of a 
dinner-table, nor made himself, as I shudder to think I had, a 
subject of rebuke, if not of ridicule. These harassing, torturing 
reflections continued to press on me, and I paced the room with 
my hands clasped and the perspiration upon my brow. One thing 
is certain — I can never see /ler again, thought I ; this disgraceful busi- 
ness must, in some shape or other, become known to her, and all I 
have been saying these last three days, rise up in judgment against 
this one act, and stamp me an impostor ; I that decried, nay de- 
rided, our false notion of honour. Would that Considine were 
come. What can keep him now ? I walked to the door : a boy 
belonging to the house was walking the roan before the door. 
What had then become of Pat, I inquired ; but no one could tell — 
he had disappeared shortly after our arrival, and had not been 
seen afterwards. My own thoughts were, however, too engross- 
ing to permit me to think more of this circumstance, and I turned 
again to enter the house, when I saw Considine advancing up the 
road at the full speed of his pony. 

“ Out with the mare, Charley — ^be alive, my boy — all’s settled.” 
So saying, he sprang from the pony, and proceeded to harness the 
roan with the greatest haste, informing me in broken sentences, 
as he went on with all the arrangements. 

‘^We are to cross the bridge of Portumna. They won the 
ground, and it seems Bodkin likes the spot ; he shot Payton there 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


43 


three years ago. Worse luck now, Charley, you know : by all 
the rules of chance, he can’t expect the same thing twice — never 
four by honours in two deals — didn’t say that though — a sweet 
meadow, I know it well ; small hillocks like mole hills all over 
it — caught him at breakfast ; I don’t think he expected the mes- 
sage to come from us, but said that it was a very polite attention, 
and so it was, you know.” 

So he continued to ramble on, as we once more took our seats 
in the tax-cart, and set out for the ground. 

What are you thinking of, Charley ?” said the Count, as I kept 
silent for some minutes. 

I’m thinking, sir, if I were to kill him, what I must do after.” 

Right, my boy; nothing like that, but I’ll settle all for you. 
Upon my conscience, if it wasn’t for the chance of his getting into 
another quarrel and spoiling the election, I’d go back for Godfrey; 
he’d like to see you break ground so prettily. And you say you’re 
no shot?” 

Never could do any thing with the pistol to speak of, sir,” 
said I, remembering his rebuke of the morning. 

I don’t mind that : you’ve a good eye ; never take it otf him 
after you’re on the ground — follow him everywhere ; poor Calla- 
ghan, that’s gone, shot his man always that way : he had a way 
of looking without winking that was very fatal, at a short distance ; 
a very good thing to learn, Charley, when you have a little spare 
time.” 

Half-an-hour’s sharp driving brought us to the river side, where 
a boat had been provided by Considine to ferry us over. It was 
now about eight o’clock, and a heavy gloomy morning, much rain 
had fallen over night: and the dark and lowering atmosphere 
seemed charged with more. The mountains looked twice their 
real size, and all the shadows were increased to an enormous 
extent. A very killing kind of light it was, as the Count re- 
marked. 


44 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE DUEL. 

As the boatmen pulled in towards the shore, we perceived, a 
few hundred yards off, a group of persons standing, whom we 
soon recognised as our opponents. “ Charley,’^ said the Count, 
grasping my arm lightly, as I stood up to spring on the land, 
“ Charley, although you are only a boy as I may say, I have no fear 
for your courage ; but, still, more than that is needful here. This 
Bodkin is a noted duelist, and will try to shake your nerve. Now, 
mind that you take every thing that happens, quite with an air 
of indifference — don’t let him think that he has any advantage 
over you, and you’ll see how the tables will he turned in your 
favour.” 

“ Trust to me. Count,” said I, ‘‘ Pll not disgrace you.” 

He pressed my hand tightly, and I thought that I discerned 
something like a slight twitch about the corners of his grim mouth, 
as if some sudden and painful thought had shot across his mind, 
hut in a moment he was calm and stern-looking as ever. 

Twenty minutes late, Mr. Considine,” said a short red-faced 
little man, with a military frock and foraging cap, as he held out 
his watch in evidence. 

I can only say. Captain Malowney, that we lost no time since 
we parted ; we had some difficulty in finding a boat ; hut, in any 
case, we are here now^ and that I opine is the important part of 
the matter.” 

‘‘ Quite right, very just indeed. Will you present me to your 
young friend — very proud to make your acquaintance, sir ; your 
uncle and I met more than once in this kind of way. I was out 
with him in ’92 — was it? no, I think it was ’93 — when he shot 
Harry Burgoyne, who, by-the-hy, was called the crack shot of 
our mess ; but, begad your uncle knocked his pistol hand to 
shivers, saying, in his dry way, ‘ he must try the left hand this 
morning.’ Count, a little this side, if you please.” While Consi- 
dine and the Captain walked a few paces apart from where I 
stood, I had leisure to observe my antagonist, who stood among 
a group of his friends, talking and laughing away in great spirits. 
As the tone they spoke in was not of the lowest, I could catch 
much of their conversation at the distance I was from them. 
They were discussing the last occasion that Bodkin had visited 
this spot, and talking of the fatal event which happened then. 

“ Poor devil,” said Bodkin, “ it wasn’t his fault ; but you see 
some of the ^th had been showing white feathers before that. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


45 


and he was obliged to go out. In fact, the Colonel himself said, 
‘Fight or leave the corps.’ Well, out he came: it was a cold 
morning in February, with a frost the night before going off in a 
thin rain ; well, it seems he had the consumption or something 
of that sort, with a great cough and spitting of blood, and this 
weather made him worse, and he was very weak when he came 
to the ground. Now, the moment I got a glimpse of him, I said 
to myself, he’s pluck enough, but as nervous as a lady, for his 
eye wandered all about, and his mouth was constantly twitching. 
‘ Take off your great coat, Ned,’ said one of his people, when 
they were going to put him up ; ‘ take it off, man.’ He seemed 
to hesitate for an instant, when Michael Blake remarked, ‘ Arrah, 
let him alone ; it’s his mother makes him wear it, for the cold he 
has.’ They all began to laugh at this, but I kept my eye upon 
him, and I saw that his cheek grew quite livid, and a kind of 
grey colour, and his eyes filled up ; ‘I have you now,’ said I to 
myself, and I shot him through the lungs.” 

“ And this poor fellow,” thought I, “ was the only son of a wi- 
dowed mother.” I walked from the spot to avoid hearing further, 
and felt as I did so, something like a spirit of vengeance rising 
within me, for the fate of- one so untimely cut off. 

“ Here we are, all ready,” said Malowney, springing over a 
small fence into the adjoining field — “ take your ground, gentle- 
men.” 

Considine took my arm and walked forward. “ Charley,” said 
he, “ I am to give the signal — I’ll drop my glove when you are 
to fire, but don’t look at me at all. I’ll manage to catch Bodkin’s 
eye, and do you watch him steadily, and fire when he does.” 

“ I think that the ground we are leaving behind us is rather 
better,” said some one. 

“ So it is,” said Bodkin, “ but it was troublesome to carry the 
young gentleman down that way — ^here all is fair and easy.” 

The next instant we were placed, and I well remember the first 
thought that struck me was, that there could be no chance of either 
of us escaping. 

“ Now, then,” said the Count, “ I’ll walk twelve paces, turn and 
drop this glove, at which signal you fire — and together mind. 
The man who reserves his shot, falls by my hand.” This very 
summary denunciation seemed to meet general approbation, and 
the Count strutted forth. Notwithstanding the advice of my 
friend, I could not help turning my eyes from Bodkin to watch 
the retiring figure of the Count. At length he stopped — a second 
or two elapsed-— he wheeled rapidly round, and let fall the glove. 
My eye glanced toward my opponent, I raised my pistol and fired. 
My hat turned half round upon my head, and Bodkin fell motion- 
less to the earth. I saw the people around me rush forward ; I 
caught two or three glances thrown at me with an expression of 
revengeful passion ; I felt some one grasp me round the waist, 


46 


CHARLES O^MALLEY, 


and hurry me from the spot, and it was at least ten minutes after, 
as we were skimming the surface of the broad Shannon, before I 
could well collect my scattered faculties to remember all that was 
passing, as Considine pointed to the two bullet holes in my hat, 
remarked, “ Sharp practice, Charley, it was the overcharge saved 
you.’’ 

Is he killed, sir ?” I asked. 

“ Not quite, I believe, but as good ; you took him just above 
the hip.” 

Can he recover ?” said I, with a voice tremulous from agitation, 
which I vainly endeavoured to conceal from my companion. 

“Not if the doctor can help it,” said Considine; “for the fool 
keeps poking about for the ball ; but now let’s think of the next 
step — you’ll have to leave this, and at once too.” 

Little more passed between us. As we rowed towards the 
shore, Considine was following up his reflections, and I had mine, 
alas ! too many and too bitter to escape from. 

As we neared the land a strange spectacle caught our eye : for 
a considerable distance along the coast crowds of country people 
were assembled, who, forming in groups, and breaking into parties 
of two and three were evidently watching with great anxiety 
what was taking place at the opposite 'side. Now, the distance 
was at least three miles, and therefore any part of the transaction 
which had been enacted there, must have been quite beyond their 
view. While I was wondering at this, Considine cried out sud- 
denly, “ Too infamous, by Jove ; we’re murdered men.” 

“ What do you mean ?” said I. 

“ Don’t you see that ?” said he, pointing to something black 
which floated from a pole at the opposite side of the river. 

“Yes; what is it?” 

“ It’s his coat they’ve put upon an oar to show the people he’s 
killed, that’s all. Every man here’s his tenant, and look — there ! 
— they’re not giving us much doubt as to their intention.” Here 
a tremendous yell burst forth from the mass of people along the 
shore, which, rising to a terrific cry, sunk gradually down to a 
low wailing, then rose and fell again several times, as the Irish 
death-cry filled the air and rose to heaven, as if imploring ven- 
geance on a murderer. 

The appalling influence of the keen^ as it is called, had been 
familiar to me from my infancy, but it needed the awful situation 
I was placed in to consummate its horrors. It was at once my 
accusation and my doom. I knew well, none better, the vengeful 
character of the Irish peasant of the west, and that my death was 
certain I had no doubt. The very crime that sat upon my 
heart quailed its courage and unnerved my arm. As the boatmen 
looked from us towards the shore, and again at our faces, they, as 
if instinctively, lay upon their oars, and waited for our decision as 
to what course to pursue. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


47 


Rig the sprit sail, my boys,’’ said Considine, and let her 
head lie up the river, and be alive, for I see they’re bailing a boat 
below the little reef there, and Avill be after us in no time.” 

The poor fellows, who, although strangers to us, sympathizing 
in what they perceived to be our imminent danger, stepped the 
light spar which acted as mast, and shook out their scanty rag of 
canvass in a minute. Considine, meanwhile, went aft, and 
steadying her head with an oar, held the small craft up to the wind, 
till she lay completely over, and, as she rushed through the water, 
ran dipping her gunnel through the white foam. 

Where can we make, without tacking, boys?” inquired the 
Count. 

‘‘ If it blows on as fresh, sir, we’ll run you ashore withiu' half a 
mile of the castle.” 

Put out an oar to leeward,” said Considine, ^^and keep her up 
more to the wind, and I promise you, my lads, you will not go 
home fresh and fasting, if you land us where you say:” 

“ Here they come,” said the other boatman, as he pomted back 
with his finger towards a large yawl which shot suddenly from the 
shore, with six sturdy fellows pulling at their oars, while three or 
four others were endeavouring to get up their rigging, which 
appeared tangled and confused at the bottom of the boat. The 
white splash of water which fell at each moment beside her, 
showing that the process of bailing was still continued. 

^^Ah, then, may I never — av it isn’t the ould Dolphin they 
have launched for the cruise,” said one of our fellows. 

What’s the Dolphin then ?” 

An ould boat of the Lord’s (Lord Clanricarde’s) that didn’t 
see water, except when it rained, these four years, and is sun 
cracked from stem to stern.” 

She can sail, however,” said Considine, who watched, with a 
painful anxiety, the rapidity of her course through the water. 

Nabocklish, she was a smuggler’s jolly-boat, and well used to 
it. Look how they’re pulling. God pardon them ; but they’re 
in no blessed humour this morning.” 

Lay out upon your oars, boys ; the wind’s failing us,” cried the 
Count, as the sail flapped lazily against the mast. 

^‘It’s no use, your honour,” said the elder; “we’ll be only 
breaking our hearts to no purpose, they’re sure to catch us.” 

“Do as I bade you at all events. What’s that ahead of us 
there ?” 

“ The oat rock, sir ; a vessel with grain struck there and went 
down with all aboard, four years last winter. There’s no channel 
between it and the shore — all sunk rocks every inch of it. There’s 
the breeze the canvass fell over as he spoke, and the little craft 
lay down to it till the foaming water bubbled over her lee bow — 
“ keep her head up, sir, higher, higher still;” — but Considine little 
heeded the direction, steering straight for the narrow channel the 


48 CHARLES o’mALLEY, 

man alluded to ; — tear and ages, but you’re going right for the 
cloch na quirka.” 

Arrah, an’ the devil a taste I’ll be drowned for your devar- 
sion,” said the other, springing up. 

“ Sit down there, and be still,” roared Considine, as he drew a 
pistol from the case at his feet, if you don’t want some leaden 
ballast to keep you so. Here, Charley, take this, and if that fel- 
low stirs hand or foot, you understand me.” The two men sat 
sulkily in the bottom of the boat, which now was actually flying 
through the water. Considine’s object was a clear one, he saw 
that, in so sailing, we were greatly overmatched, and that our 
only chance lay in reaching the narrow and dangerous channel 
between the oat rock and the shore, by which we should distance 
the pursuit ; the long reef of rocks that ran out beyond, requiring 
a wide berth to escape from. Nothing but the danger behind 
us could warrant so rash a daring ; the whole channel was dotted 
with patches of white and breaking foam, the sure evidence of 
the mischief beneath, while here and there a dash of spurting 
spray flew up from the dark water, where some cleft rock lay hid 
below the flood. Escape seemed impossible ; but who would 
not have preferred even so slender a chance with so frightful an 
alternative behind them ! As if to add terror to the scene, Consi- 
dine had scarcely turned the boat ahead of the channel when a 
tremendous blackness spread over all- around — the thunder pealed 
forth, and, amid the crashing of the hail and the bright glare of 
lightning, a squall struck us, and laid us nearly keel uppermost 
for several minutes. I well remember we rushed through the 
dark and blackening water ; our little craft more than half filled, 
the oars floating off to leeward, and we ourselves kneeling on the 
bottom planks for safety. Roll after roll of loud thunder broke, 
as it were, just above our heads ; while, in the swift dashing rain 
that seemed to hiss around us, every object was hidden, and even 
the other boat was lost to our view. The two poor fellows ! I 
shall never forget their expression ; one, a devout Catholic, had 
placed a little leaden image of a saint before him in the bow, and 
implored its intercession with a torturing agony of suspense that 
wrung my very heart : the other apparently less alive to such 
consolations as his church afforded, remained with his hands 
clasped, his mouth compressed, his brows knitted, and his dark 
eyes bent upon me, with the fierce hatred of a deadly enemy ; 
his eyes were sunken and bloodshot, and all told of some dread- 
ful conflict within ; the wild ferocity of his look fascinated my 
gaze, and amid all the terrors of the scene I could not look from 
him. As I gazed, a second and more awful squall struck the 
boat, the mast bent over, and, with a loud report like a pistol shot, 
smashed at the thwart, and fell over, trailing the sail along the 
milky sea behind us ; meanwhile the water rushed clean over us, 
and the boat seemed settling. At this dreadful moment the sailor’s 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


49 


eye was bent upon me, his lips parted, and he muttered, as if to 
himself, “ This it is to go to sea with a murderer.’’ Oh God ! the 
agony of that moment — the heartfelt and accusing conscience, that 
I was judged and doomed, that the brand of Cain was upon my 
brow, that my fellow-men had ceased forever to regard me as a 
brother, that I was an outcast and a wanderer forever. I bent 
forward till my forehead fell upon my knees, and I wept. Mean- 
while, the boat flew through the water, and Considine, who alone 
among us seemed not to lose his presence of mind, unshipped the 
mast, and sent it overboard. The storm now began to abate, and, 
as the black mass of clouds broke from around us, we beheld the 
other boat also dismasted, far behind us, while all on board of her 
were employed in bailing out the water with which she seemed 
almost sinking. The curtain of mist that had hidden us from 
each other no sooner broke, than they ceased their labours for a 
moment, and, looking towards us, burst forth into a yell, so wild, 
so savage, and so dreadful, my very heart quailed as its cadence 
fell upon my ear. 

“ Safe, my boys,” said Considine, clapping me on the shoulder, 
as he steered forth the boat from its narrow path of danger, and once 
more reached the broad Shannon ; safe, Charley : though we’ve 
had a brush for it.” In a minute more we reached the land, and, 
drawing our gallant little craft on shore, set out for O’Malley 
Castle. 


E 


50 


CHARLES o’MALLEr, 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE RETURN. 

O’Malley Castle lay about four miles from the spot we landed 
at, and thither accordingly we bent our steps without loss of time. 
We had not, however, proceeded far when, before us on the road, 
we perceived a mixed assemblage of horse and foot, hurrying 
along at a tremendous rate. The mob, which consisted of some 
hundred country people, were armed with sticks, scythes and 
pitchforks, and, although not preserving any very military aspect 
in their order of march, were still a force quite formidable enough 
to make us call a halt, and deliberate upon what we were to do. 

They’ve out-flanked us, Charley,” said Considine ; “however, 
all is not yet lost ; but see, they’ve got sight of us — here they 
come.” 

At these words, the vast mass before us came pouring along, 
splashing the mud on every side, and huzzaing like so many 
Indians. In the front ran a bare-legged boy, waving his cap to 
encourage the rest, who followed him at about fifty yards behind. 

“ Leave that fellow for me,” said the Count, coolly examining 
the lock of his pistol ; “ I’ll pick him out, and load again in time 
for his friends’ arrival. Charley, is that a gentleman I see far 
back in the crowd ? — ^yes, to be sure it is ; he’s on a large horse — 
now he’s pressing forward, so let — no — oh — ay — it’s Godfrey 
O’Malley himself, and these are our own people*.” Scarcely were 
the words out when a tremendous cheer arose from the multitude, 
who recognising us at the same instant, sprung from their horses 
and ran forward to welcome us. Among the foremost was the 
scarecrow leader, whom I at once perceived to be poor Patsey, 
who, escaping in the morning, had returned at full speed to O’Mal- 
ley Castle, and raised the whole country to my rescue. Before 
I could address one word to my faithful followers I was in my 
uncle’s arms. 

“Safe, my boy, quite safe?” 

“ Quite safe, sir.” 

“No scratch anywhere?” 

“Nothing but a hat the worse, sir,” said I, showing the two 
bullet holes in my head-piece. 

His lip quivered as he turned and whispered something into 
Considine’s ear which I heard not ; but the Count’s reply was 
“ Devil a bit, as cool as you see him this minute.” 

“And Bodkin, what of him?” 

“ This day’s work’s his last,” said Considine ; “ the ball entered 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


51 


here ; but come along, Godfrey ; Charley’s new at this kind of 
thing, and we had better discuss matters in the house,” 

Half-an-hour’s brisk trot — for we were soon supplied with 
horses — ^brought us back to the castle, much to the disappointment 
of our cortege, who had been promised a scrimmage, and went 
back in very ill humour at the breach of contract. 

The breakfast-room, as we entered, was filled with my uncle’s 
supporters, all busily engaged over poll-books and booth-tallies, 
in preparation for the eventful day of battle. These, however, 
were immediately thrown aside to hasten around me, and inquire 
all the details of my duel. Considine, happily for me, however, 
assumed all the dignity of an historian, and recounted the events 
of the morning, so much to my honour and glory, that I, who 
only a little before felt crushed and bowed down by the misery of 
my late duel, began, amid the warm congratulations and eulo- 
giums about me, to think I was no small hero ; and, in fact, some- 
thing very much resembling “the Man for Galway.” To this 
feeling a circumstance that followed assisted in contributing: 
while we were eagerly discussing the various results likely to 
arise from the meeting, a horse galloped rapidly to the door, and 
aloud voice called out, “I can’t get off, but tell him to come here.” 
We rushed out and beheld Captain Malowney, Mr. Bodkin’s 
second, covered with mud from head to foot, and his horse reeking 
with foam and sweat. “ 1 am hurrying on to Athlone for another 
doctor ; but I’ve called to tell you that the wound is not supposed 
to be mortal — he may recover yet.” Without waiting for another 
word, he dashed spurs into his nag and rattled down the avenue 
at full gallop. Mr. Bodkin’s dearest friend on earth could not 
have received the intelligence with more delight, and I now began 
to listen to the congratulations of my friends with a more tranquil 
spirit. My uncle, too, seemed much relieved by the information, 
and heard with great good temper my narrative of the few days 
at Gurt-na-morra. “So then,” said he, as I concluded, my op- 
ponent/is at least a gentleman ; that is a comfort.” 

Sir George Dash wood,” said I, “ from all I have seen, is a 
remarkably nice person, and I am certain you will meet with only 
the fair and legitimate opposition of an opposing candidate in him 
— no mean or unmanly subterfuge.” 

“ All right, Charley : well, now, your affair of this morning 
must keep you quiet here for a few days, come vdiat will ; by 
Monday next, when the election takes place, Bodlpn’s fate will 
be pretty clear, one way or the ^ other, and, if matters go well, 
you can come into town ; otherwise, I have arranged with Con- 
sidine to take you over to the Continent for a year or so ; but 
we’ll discuss all this in the evening. Now, I must start on a can- 
vass. Boyle expects to meet you at dinner to-day ; he is coming 
from Athlone on purpose. Now, good-bye !” 

When my uncle had gone I sank into a chair and fell into a 


52 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


musing fit over all the changes a few hours had wrought in me. 
From a mere boy, whose most serious employment was stocking 
the house Avith game, or inspecting the kennel, I had sprung at 
once into man’s estate, was complimented for my coolness, praised 
for my prowess, lauded for my discretion, by those who wer^ 
my seniors by nearly half a century; talked to in a tone of 
confidential intimacy by my uncle, and, in a word, treated in all 
respects as an equal — and such was all the work of a few hours. 
But so it is, the eras in life are separated by a narrow boundary : 
some trifling accident, some casual rencontre impels us across the 
Rubicon, and we pass from infancy to youth — from youth to 
manhood — from manhood to age — less by the slow and impercep- 
tible step of time than by some one decisive act or passion, which, 
occurring at a critical moment, elicits a long latent feeling, and 
impresses our existence with a colour that tinges it for many a 
long year. As for me, I had cut the tie which bound me to the 
careless gayety of boyhood, Avith a rude gash. In three short 
days I had fallen deeply, desperately in love, and had wounded, 
if not killed, an antagonist in a duel. As I meditated on these 
things, I Avas aroused by the noise of horses’ feet in the yard 
beneath. I opened the AvindoAv, and beheld jio less a person than 
Captain Hammersly. He Avas handing a card to a servant, which 
he Avas accompanying by a verbal message ; the impression of 
something like hostility on the part of the Captain, had never left 
my mind ; and I hastened doAvn stairs just in time to catch him 
as he turned from the door. 

Ah, Mr. O’Malley !” said he, in a most courteous tone, they 
told me you Avere not at home.” 

I apologized for the blunder, and begged of him to alight and 
come in. 

I thank you very much ; but, in fact, my hours are now 
numbered here, I have just received an order to join my regiment : 
we have been ordered for service, and Sir George has most kindly 
permitted my giving up my stafl* appointment. I could not, how- 
ever, leaAm,, the country without shaking hands Avith you. I OAve 
you a lesson in horsemanship, and I’m only sorry that Ave are not 
to have another day together/’ ^ 

Then, you are going oUf to the Peninsula ?” said I 

Why, Ave hope so ; the commander-in-chief, they say, is in 
great Avant of^ cavalry, and we scarcely less in Avant of something 
to do. I’m i?orry you are not coming Avith us.” 

“ Would ^0 heaven I Avcre,” said I, Avith an earnestness that 
almost made my brain start. 

Then, Avhy not ?” 

Unfortunately, I am peculiarly situated. My Avorthy uncle, 
who is all to me in this Avorld, Avould be quite alone if I Avere to 
leave hkn ; and, although he has never said so, I knoAV he dreads 
the possibility of my suggesting such a thing to him : so that, be 


1 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 53 

tween his fears and mine, the matter is never broached by either 
party, nor do I think ever can be.” 

“ Devilish hard — but I believe you are right ; something, how- 
ever, may turn up yet to alter his mind, and, if so, and if you do 
take the dragooning, don’t forget, George Hammersly will be 
always most delighted to meet you, and so good bye, O’Malley, 
good bye.” 

He turned his horse’s head and was already some paces off, 
when he returned to my side, and added in a lower tone of voice — 
I ought to have mentioned to you that there has been much 
discussion on your affair at Blake’s table, and only one opinion 
on the matter among all parties — that you acted perfectly right. 
Sir George Dash wood — ^no mean judge of such things — quite ap- 
proves of your conduct, and I believe wishes you to know as 
much, and now, once more good bye.” 


CHAPTER X. 

THE ELECTION. 

The important morning at length arrived, and, as I looked from 
my bedroom window at daybreak, the crowd of carriages of all 
sorts and shapes decorated with banners and placards ; the inces- 
sant bustle; the hurrying hither and thither; the cheering as each 
new detachment of voters came up, mounted on jaunting cars or 
on horses, whose whole caparison consisted in a straw rope for 
a bridle, and a saddle of the same frail material ; all informed me 
that the election day was come. I lost no further time, but pro- 
ceeded to dress with all possible despatch. When I appeared in 
the breakfast-room, it was already filled with some seventy or 
eighty persons of all ranks and ages, mingled confusedly together, 
and enjoying the hospitable fare of my uncle’s house, while they 
discussed all the details and prospects of the election. In the hall 
— the library — the large drawing-room too, similar parties were 
also assembled, and, as new comers arrived, the servants were 
busy in preparing tables before the door and up the large terrace 
that ran the entire length of the building. Nothing could be 
more amusing than the incongruous mixture of die guests, who, 
with every variety of eatable that chance or inclination provided, 
were thus thrown into close contact, having only this in common, 
the success of the cause they were engaged in. Here was the old 
Galway squire, with an ancestry that reached Noah, sitting side 
by side with the poor cottier, whose whole earthly possession was 
what, in Irish phrase, is called a potato garden,” meaning the 

E 2 


54 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


exactly smallest possible patch of ground out of which a very 
Indian-rubber conscience could presume to vote. Here sat the 
old simple-minded farmer-like man, in close conversation with a 
little white-foreheaded, keen-eyed personage, in a black coat and 
eye-glass — a flash attorney from Dublin, learned in flaws of the 
registry, and deep in the subtleties of election law. There was 
an Athlone horse-dealer, whose habitual daily practices in impos- 
ing the halt, the lame, and the blind upon the unsuspecting, for 
beasts of blood and mettle, well qualified him for the trickery of a 
county contest. Then there were scores of squireen gentry, easily 
, recognised on common occasions by a green coat with brass but- 
tons, dirty cords, and dirtier top-boots, a lash-whip, and a half-bred 
fox-hound ; but now, fresh washed for the day, they presented 
something of the appearance of a swell mob, adjusted to the 
meridian of Galway. A rnass of frieze-coated, brown-faced, 
bullet-headed peasantry filling up the large spaces, dotted here and 
there with a sleek, roguish-eyed priest, or some low electioneering 
'agent, detailing, for the amusement of the country, some of those 
cunning practices of former times, which, if known to the proper 
authorities, would, in all likelihood, cause the talented narrator to 
be improving the soil of Sidney, or fishing on the banks of the 
Swan River, while, at the head and foot of each table, sat some 
personal friend of my uncle, whose ready tongue, and still readier 
pistol, made him a personage of some consequence not more to 
his own people, than to the enemy. While of such material were 
the company, the fare before them was no less varied : here 
some rubicund squire was deep in amalgamating the contents of 
a venison pasty with some of Sneyd’s oldest claret ; his neighbour, 
less ambitious and less erudite in such matters, was devouring rashers 
of bacon with liberal potations of poteen ; some pale-cheeked 
scion of the law, with all the dust of the Four Courts in his throat, 
was sipping his humble beverage of black tea, beside four sturdy 
cattle-dealers, from Ballinasloe, who were discussing hot whisky 
punch and spoleaion (boiled beef) at the very primitive hour of 
eight in the morning. Amid the clank of decanters, the crash of 
knives and plates, the jingling of glasses, the laughter and voices 
of the guests were audibly increasing, and the various modes of 
“running a buck,’’ (anglice, substituting a vote,) or hunting a 
badger, were talked over on all sides, while the price of a veal 
(a calf) or a voter was disputed with all the energy of debate. 

Refusing many an offered place, I went through the different 
rooms, in seareri of Considine, to whom circumstances of late had 
somehow greatly attached me. 

“ Here, Charley,” cried a voice I was very familiar with ; “here’s 
a place I’ve been keeping for you.” 

“Ah, SirHarry,howdoyoudo? Any of that grouse-pie to spare?” 

“ Abundance, my boy ; but I’m afraid I can’t say as much for 
the liquor : I have been shouting for claret this half hour in vain 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


55 


— do get us some nutriment down here, and the Lord will reward 
you. What a pity it is,’’ he added in a lower tone to his neigh- 
bour ; what a pity a quart bottle wont hold a quart ; but I’ll 
bring it before the House one of these days.” That he kept his 
word in this respect, a motion on the books of the Honourable 
House will bear me witness. 

‘‘Is this it ?”• said he, turning towards a farmer-like old man, 
who had put some question to him across the table ; “ is it the 
apple-pie you’ll have ?” 

“ Many thanks to your honour — I’d like it, av it was whole- 
some.” 

“ And why shouldn’t it be wholesome ?” said Sir Harry. 

“Troth then myself does not know; but my father, I heard 
tell, died of an apple-plexy, and I’m afeerd of it.” 

I at length found Considine, and learned that, as a very good 
account of Bodkin had arrived, there was no reason why I should 
not proceed to the hustings : but I was secretly charged not to 
take any prominent part in theMay’s proceedings. My uncle I 
only saw for an instant ; — he begged me to be careful, avoid all 
scrapes, and not to quit Considine. It was past ten o’clock when 
our formidable procession got under way, and headed towards 
the town of Galway. The road was, for miles, crowded Avith our 
followers ; banners flying and music playing, we presented some- 
thing of the spectacle of a very ragged army on its march. At 
every cross-road a mountain-path reinforcement awaited us, and, 
as we wended along, our numbers were momentarily increasing ; 
here and there along the line, some energetic and not over sober 
adherent was regaling his auditory with a speech in laudation 
of the O’Malleys since the days of Moses, and more than one 
priest was heard threatening the terrors of his church in aid of a 
cause to whose success he was pledged and bound. I rode beside the 
Count, who, surrounded by a group of choice spirits, recounted 
the various happy inventions by Avhich he had on divers occasions 
substituted a personal quarrel for a contest. Boyle also contri- 
buted his share of election anecdote, and one incident he related, 
which, I remember, amused me much at the time. 

“ Do you remember Billy Calvert that came down to contest 
Kilkenny ?” inquired Sir Harry. 

“What! ever forget him!” said Considine, “with his well- 
powdered wig, and his hessians. There never was his equal for 
lace ruffles nor rings.” 

“ You never heard, may be, how he lost the eledion ?” 

“He resigned, I believe, or something of that sort.” 

“ No, no,” said another; “ he never came forward at all : there’s 
Rome secret in it, for Tom Butler was elected without a contest.” 

“ Jack, I’ll tell you how it happened. I was on my way up 
from Cork, having finished my own business, and just carried the 
day, not without a push for it. When we reached — Lady Mary 


56 


CHARLES o’mALLEY. 


was with me — when we reached Kilkenny, the night before the 
election, 1 was not ten minutes in town till Butler heard of it, 
and sent off express to see me ; I was at my dinner when the 
messenger came, and promised to go over when Pd done ; but, 
faith, Tom didn’t wait, but came rushing up stairs himself, and 
dashed into the room in the greatest hurry. 

“‘Harry,’ says he, ‘I’m done for; the corporation of free 
smiths, that were always above bribery, having voted for myself 
and my father before, for four pounds ten a man, won’t come 
forward under six guineas and whisky. Calvert has the money : 
they know it — The devil a farthing we have ; and we’ve been 
paying all our fellows that can’t read in Hennesy’s notes, and you 
know the bank’s broke these three weeks.’ 

“ On he went, giving me a most disastrous picture of his cause, 
and concluded by asking if I could suggest any thing under the 
circumstances. 

“‘You couldn’t get a decent mob and clear the poll?’ 

“ ‘ I am afraid not,’ said he, despondingly. 

“‘Then I don’t see what’s to be done: if you can’t pick a 
fight with himself — will he go out ?’ 

“ ‘ Lord knows ; they say he’s so afraid of that, that it has 
prevented him coming down till the very day : but he is arrived 
now ; he came in the evening, and is stopping at Walsh’s, in Pat- 
rick-street.’ 

“ ‘ Then I’ll see what can be done,’ said I. 

“ ‘ Is that Calvert, the little man that blushes when the Lady 
Lieutenant speaks to him ?’ said Lady Mary. 

“‘The very man.’ 

“‘Would it be of any use to you if he could not come on the 
hustings to-morrow ?’ said she again. 

“ ‘ ’Twould gain us the day : half the voters don’t believe he’s 
here at all, and his chief agent cheated all the people on the last 
election, and if Calvert didn’t appear, he wouldn’t have ten voters 
to register. But why do you ask ?’ 

“ ‘ Why, that, if you like. I’ll bet you a pair of diamond ear-rings 
he shan’t show.’ 

“ ‘ Done,’ said Butler, ‘ and I promise a necklace into the bar- 
gain, if you win : but I’m afraid you’re only quizzing me.’ 

“ ‘ Here’s my hand on it, said she : and now let’s talk of some- 
thing else.’ 

“ As Lady Boyle never asked my assistance, and, as I knew she 
was very well able to perform whatever she undertook, you may 
be sure I gave myself very little trouble about the whole affair, 
and, when they came, I went off to breakfast with Tom’s commit- 
tee, not knowing any thing that was to be done. 

“ Calvert had given orders that he was to be called at eight 
o’clock, and so a few minutes before that time a gentle knock 
came to the door. ‘ Come in, said he, thinking it was the waiter. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


57 


and covering himself up in the clothes, for he was the most bash- 
ful creature that ever was seen; ‘Come in.’ 

“ The door opened, and what was his horror to find that a 
lady entered in her dressing gown, her hair on her shoulders very 
much tossed and dishevelled ! The moment she came in she closed 
the door and locked it, and then sat leisurely down upon a chair. 

“ Billy’s teeth chattered, and his limbs trembled, for this was an 
adventure of a very novel kind for him. At last, he took courage 
to speak. ‘ I am afraid, madam,’ said he, ‘ that you are under 
some unhappy mistake, and that you supposed this chamber 
is .’ 

“ ‘ Mr. Calvert’s,’ said the lady, with a solemn voice, ‘ is it not ?’ 

• “ ‘ Yes, madam, I am that person.’ 

“ ‘ Thank God,’ said the lady, with a very impressive tone, ‘ here 
I am safe.’ 

“ Billy grew very much puzzled at these words ; but hoping 
that, by his silence, the lady would proceed to some explanation, 
he said no more. She, however, seemed to think that nothing 
further was necessary, and sat still and motionless, with her hands 
before her, and her eyes fixed on Billy. 

“ ‘ You seem to forget me, sir ?’ said she, with a faint smile. 

“ ‘ I do, indeed, madam ; the half light, the novelty of your 
costume, and the strangeness of the circumstance altogether, must 
plead for me — if I appear rude enough.’ 

“ ‘ I am Lady Mary Boyle,’ said she. 

I do remember you, madam ; but may I ask .^’ 

“ ‘ Yes, yes, I know what you would ask : you would say, why 
are you here, how comes it that you have so far outstepped the 
propriety of which your whole life is an example, that, alone at 
such a time you appear in the chamber of a man whose character 
for gallantry ’ 

“ ‘ Oh, indeed — indeed, my lady, nothing of the kind.’ 

“ ‘ Ah, alas ! how poor defenceless women learn too late ; how 
constantly associated is the retiring modesty which denies, with 

the pleasing powers which ensure success .’ Here she sobbed, 

Billy blushed, and the clock struck nine. 

“ ‘ May I then beg, madam ?’ 

“ Yes, yes, you shall hear it all ; but my poor scattered faculties 
will not be the clearer by your hurrying me. You know 
perhaps,’ continued she, ‘that my maiden name was Rogers?’ He 
of the blankets bowed, and she resumed. ‘ It is now eighteen 
years since that a young, unsuspecting, fond creature, reared in all 
the care and fondness of doting parents, tempted her first step in 
life, and trusted her fate to another’s keeping. I am that unhappy 
person : the other, that monster in human guise that smiled but to 
betray, that won but to ruin and destroy, is he whom you know as 
Sir Harry Boyle.’ Here she sobbed for some minutes, wiped her 
eyes, and resumed her narrative, beginning at the period of her 
8 


58 


CHARLES o’mALLET, 


marriage, detailed a number of circumstances, in which poor 
Calvert, in all his anxiety to come au fond at matters, could never 
perceive bore upon the question in any way ; but, as she recounted 
them all with great force and precision, -entreating him to bear in 
mind certain circumstances to which she should recur by-and-by, 
his attention was kept on the stretch, and it was only when the 
clock struck ten that he was fully aware how his morning was 
passing, and what surmises his absence might originate. 

‘ May I interrupt you for a momentr, dear madam ; was it nine 
or ten o’clock which struck last ? 

‘‘ ‘ How should I know ?’ said she, frantically ; ^ what are hours 
and minutes to her who has passed long years of misery ?’ 

Very true, very true,’ replied he, timidly, and rather fearing 
for the intellects of his fair companion. 

She continued. 

‘‘ The narrative, however, so far from becoming clearer, grew 
gradually more confused and intricate, and as frequent references 
were made by the lady to some previous statement, Calvert was 
more than once rebuked for forgetfulness and inattention, where, 
in reality, nothing less than short-hand could have borne him 
through. 

‘ Was it in ninety-three, I said, that Sir Harry left me at Tuam?’ 

“‘Upon my life, madam, I am afraid to aver, but it strikes 
me .’ 

“ ‘ Gracious powers ! and this is he whom I fondly trusted to 
make the depository of my woes — cruel, cruel man.’ — Here she 
sobbed considerably for several minutes, and spoke not. 

“ A loud cheer of ‘ Butler forever,’ from the mob without, now 
burst upon their hearing, and recalled poor Calvert at once to the 
thought that the hours were speeding fast, and no prospect of the 
everlasting tale coming to an end. 

“ ‘ I am deeply, most deeply grieved, my dear madam,’ said the 
little man, sitting up in a pyramid of blankets, ‘ but hours, minutes, 
are most precious to me this morning. I am about to be proposed 
as member for Kilkenny.’ 

“ At these words, the lady straightened her figure out, threw 
her arms at either side, and burst into a fit of laughter, which 
poor Calvert knew at once to be hysterics. Here was a pretty 
situation : the bell rope lay against the opposite wall, even if it 
did not, would he be exactly warranted in pulling it ? 

“ ‘ May the devil and all his angels take Sir Harry Boyle and 
his whole connection to the fifth generation,’ was his sincere prayer, 
as he sat like a Chinese juggler under his canopy. 

“ At length the violence of the paroxysm seemed to subside, the 
sobs became less frequent, the kicking less forcible, and the lady’s 
eyes closed, and she appeared to have fallen asleep. ‘ Now is the 
moment,’ said Billy ; ‘ if I could only get as far as my dressing- 
gown.’ So saying, he worked himself down noiselessly to the foot 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


59 


of his bed, looked fixedly at the fallen lids of the sleeping lady, 
and essayed one leg from the blankets. ‘ Now or never,’ said he, 
pushing aside the curtain, and preparing for a spring — one more 
look he cast at his companion, and then leaped forth ; but just as 
he lit upon the floor, she again aroused herself, screaming with 
horror. Billy fell upon the bed, and, rolling himself in the bed- 
clothes, vowed never to rise again till she was out of the visible 
horizon. ^ What is all this ; what do you mean, sir ?’ said the 
lady, reddening with indignation. 

Nothing, upon my soul, madam: it was only my dressing 
gown !’ 

‘‘‘Your dressing gown!’ said she, with an emphasis worthy 
of Siddons ; ‘ a likely story for Sir Harry to believe, sir ; fie, 
fie, sir.’ 

“ ‘ This last allusion seemed a settler ; for the luckless Calvert 
heaved a profound sigh, and sunk down as if all hope had left 
him. ‘ Butler forever,’ roared the mob ; ‘ Calvert forever,’ cried 
a boy’s voice from without ; ‘ Three groans for the runaway,’ an- 
swered this announcement ; and a very tender inquiry of ‘ Where 
is he ?’ was raised by some hundred mouths. 

“ ‘ Madam,’ said the almost frantic listener, ‘ madam, I must get 
up ; I must dress ; I beg of you to permit me.’ 

“ ‘ I have nothing to refuse, sir : alas ! disdain has long been my 
only portion. Get up if you will.’ 

“ ‘ But,’ said the astonished man, who was nigh well deranged 
at the coolness of this reply, ‘ but how am I to do so, if you sit 
there?’ 

“ ‘ Sorry for any inconvenience I may cause you ; but, in the 
crowded state of the hotel, I hope you see the impropriety of my 
walking about the passages in this costume?’ 

“ ‘ And, great God ! madam, why did you come out in it ?’ 

“ A cheer from the mob prevented her reply being audible. One 
o’clock tolled out from the great bell of the cathedral; 

“ ‘ There’s one o’clock, as I live.’ 

“ ‘ I heard it,’ said the lady. 

“ ‘ The shouts are increasing. What is that I hear ? Butler 
is in. Gracious mercy ! is the election over ?’ 

“ The lady stepped to the window, drew aside the curtain, and 
said, ‘ Indeed, it would appear so ; the mob are chairing Mr, But- 
ler. [A deafening shout burst from the street.] ‘ Perhaps you’d 
like to see the fun, so I’ll not detain you any longer. So good-bye, 
Mr. Calvert ; and, as your breakfast will be cold, in all likelihood, 
come down to No. 4, for Sir Harry’s a late man, and will be glad to 
see you.’ ’ 


60 


CHARLES O^MALLEY, 


CHAPTER XL 

AN ADVENTURE. 

As thus we lightened the road with chattingj the increasing con- 
course of people, and the greater throng of carriages that filled the 
road, announced that we had nearly reached our destination. 

Considine,’^ said my uncle, riding up to where we were, I 
have just got a few lines from Davern. It seems Bodkin’s people 
are afraid to come in : they know what they must expect, and if 
so, more than half of that barony is lost to our opponent.” 

Then he has no chance whatever.” 

He never had, in my opinion,” said Sir Harry. 

“ We’ll see soon,” said my uncle, cheerfully, and rode to the 
post. 

The remainder of the way was occupied in discussing the vari- 
ous possibilities of the election, into which I was rejoiced to find 
that defeat never entered. 

In the goodly days I speak of, a county contest was a very dif- 
ferent thing indeed from the tame and insipid farce that now passes 
under that name : where a briefless barrister, bullied by both sides, 
sits as assessor — a few drunken voters — a radical O’Connellite 
grocer — a demagogue priest — a deputy grand purple, something 
from the Trinity College lodge, with some half dozen followers, 
shouting to the devil with Peel, or down with Dens,” form the 
whole corps de baMet. No, no ; in the times I refer to the voters 
were some thousands in number, and the adverse parties took the 
field, far less dependent for success upon previous pledge or pro- 
mise made them, than upon the . actual stratagem of the day. 
Each went forth, like a general to battle, surrounded by a nume- 
rous and well-chosen staff; one party of friends, acting as commis- 
sariat, attended to the victualling of the voters, that they obtained 
a due, or rather undue allowance of liquor, and came properly 
drunk to the poll ; others again broke into skirmishing parties, and, 
scattered over the country, cut off the enemy’s supplies, breaking 
down their post-chaises, upsetting their jaunting cars, stealing their 
poll-books, and kidnapping their agents. Then there were secret 
service people, bribing the enemy and enticing them to desert ; 
and lastly, there was a species of sapper-and-miner force, who 
invented false documents, denied the identity of the opposite party’s 
people, and, when hard pushed, provided persons who took bribes 
from the enemy, and gave evidence afterwards on a petition. 
Amid all these encounters of wit and ingenuity, the personal friends 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


61 ' 


of the candidate formed a species of rifle brigade, picking out the 
enemy’s officers, and doing sore damage to their tactics, by shoot- 
ing a proposer, or wounding a seconder — a considerable portion of 
every leading agent’s fee being intended as compensation for the 
duels he might, could, would, should, or ought to fight during the 
election. Such, in brief, was a contest in the olden time; and, 
when it is taken into consideration, that it usually lasted a fortnight 
or three weeks, that a considerable military force was always en- 
gaged, (for our Irish law permits this,) and which, when nothing 
pressing was doing, was regularly assailed by both parties — that 
far more dependence was placed in a bludgeon than a pistol — and 
that the man who registered a vote without a cracked pate, was 
regarded as a kind of natural phenomenon, some faint idea may 
be formed how much such a scene must have contributed to the 
peace of the county and the happiness and welfare of all con- 
cerned in it. 

As we rode along, a loud cheer from a road that ran parallel to 
the one we were pursuing attracted our attention, and we per- 
ceived that the cortege of the opposite party was hastening on to 
the hustings. I could distinguish the Blakes’ girls on horseback, 
among a crowd of officers in undress, and saw something like a 
bonnet in the carriage and four which headed the procession, and 
which I judged to be that of Sir George Dash wood. My heart 
beat strongly as I strained my eyes to see if Miss Dashwood were 
there, but I could not discern her, and it was with a sense of relief 
that I reflected on the possibility of our not meeting under circum- 
stances wherein our feelings and interests were so completely 
opposed. While I was engaged in making this survey, I had 
accidentally dropped behind my companions; my eyes were firmly 
fixed upon that carriage, and, in the faint hope that it contained 
the object of all my wishes, I forgot every thing else. At length 
the cortege entered the town, and, passing beneath a heavy stone 
gateway, was lost to my view. I was still lost in revery, when 
an under-agent of my uncle’s rode up. Oh ! Master Charles,” 
said he, “ what’s to be done ? they’ve forgotten Mr. Holmes at 
Woodford, and we haven’t a carriage, chaise, or even a car left, 
to send for him.” 

“ Have you told Mr. Considine ?” inquired I. 

And sure you know yourself how little Mr. Considine thinks 
of a lawyer. It’s small comfort he’d give me if I went to tell him : 
if it was a case of pistols or a bullet mould, he’d ride back the 
whole way himself for them.” 

Try Sir Harry Boyle then.” 

He’s making a speech this minute before the court-house.” 

This had sufficed to show me how far behind my companions 1 
had been loitering, when a cheer from the distant road again turned 
my eyes in that direction : it was the Dashwood carriage returning, 
after leaving Sir George at the hustings. The head of the britska, 

F 


62 CHARLES o’mALLEY, 

before thrown open, was now closed, and I could not make out if 
any one were inside. 

“Devil a doubt of it,’’ said the agent, in answer to some ques- 
tion of a farmer who rode beside him ; “ will you stand to me ?” 

“ Troth, to be sure I will.” 

“Here goes then,” said he, gathering up his reins and turn- 
ing his horse towards the fence at the road side ; “ follow me 
now, boys.” 

The order was well obeyed, for, when he had cleared the ditch, 
a dozen stout country fellows, well mounted, were beside him. 
Away they went at a hunting pace, taking every leap before them, 
and heading towards the road before us. 

Without thinking further of the matter, I was laughing at the 
droll effect the line of frieze coats presented as they rode, side 
by side, over the stone walls, when an observation near me 
aroused my attention. 

“ Ah, then, av they know any thing of Jim Finucane, they’ll 
give it up peaceably: it’s little he’d think of taking the coach 
from under the judge himself.” 

“ What are they about, boys ?” said I. 

“ Goin’ to take the chaise and four forninst ye, yer honour,” said 
the man. 

I waited not to hear more, but darting spurs into my horse’s 
sides, cleared the fence at one bound. My horse, a strong knit, 
half-bred, was as fast as a racer for a shorfdistance ; so that when 
the agent and his party had come up with the carriage, I was only 
a few hundred yards behind. I shouted out with all my might, 
but they either heard not, or heeded not ; for scarcely was the first 
man over the fence into the road, when the postilion on the leader 
was felled to the ground, and his place supplied by his slayer. 
The boy on the wheeler shared the same fate ; and, in an instant, 
so well managed was the attack, the carriage was in possession 
of the assailants. Four stout fellows had climbed into the box 
and the rumble, and six others were climbing into the interior, re- 
gardless of the aid of steps. By this time the Dashwood party 
had got the alarm, and returned in full force — not, however, 
before the other had laid whip to the horses, and set out in 
full gallop; and now commenced the most terrific race I ever 
witnessed. 

The four carriage horses, which were the property of Sir 
GeorgOj were English thoroughbreds of great value, and totally 
unaccustomed to the treatment they experienced, dashed forward 
at a pace that threatened annihilation to the carriage at every 
bound. The pursuers, though well mounted, were speedily dis- 
tanced, but followed at a pace that, in the end, was certain to 
overtake the carriage. As for myself, I rode on beside the road, 
at the full speed of my horse, shouting, cursing, imploring, exe- 
crating, and beseeching at turns, but all in vain — the yells and 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


63 


stiouts of the pursuers and pursued drowned all other sounds, ex- 
cept when the thundering crash of the horses’ feet rose above all. 
The road, like most western Irish roads, until the present century, 
lay straight as an arrow for miles, regardless of every opposing 
barrier, and, in the instance in question, crossed a mountain at its 
very highest point. Towards this pinnacle the pace had been 
treinendous ; but, owing to the higher breeding of the cattle, the 
carriage party had still the advance, and, when they reached the 
top, they proclaimed the victory by a cheer of triumph and de- 
rision. The carriage disappeared beneath the crest of the moun- 
tain, and the pursuers halted, as if disposed to relinquish the 
chase. 

Come on, boys. Never give up,” cried I, springing over into 
the road and heading the party, to which by every right I was 
opposed. 

It was no time for deliberation, and they followed me with a 
hearty cheer that convinced me I was unknown. The next in- 
stant we were on the mountain top, and beheld the carriage, half- 
way down beneath us, still galloping at full stretch. 

‘‘ We have them now,” said a voice behind me ; they’ll never 
turn Lurra bridge, if we only press on.” 

The speaker was right : the road at the mountain foot turned at 
a perfect right angle, and then crossed a lofty one-arched bridge 
over a mountain torrent, that ran deep and boisterously beneath. 
On we went, gaining at every stride ; for the fellows who rode 
postilion well knew what was before them, and slackened their 
pace to secure a safe turning. A yell of victory arose from the 
pursuers, but was answered by the others with a cheer of defi- 
ance. The space was now scarcely two hundred yards between 
us, when the head of the britska was flung down, and a figure that 
I at once recognised as the redoubted Tim Finucane, one of the 
boldest and most reckless fellows in the country, was seen stand- 
ing on the seat — holding, gracious heavens ! it was true — holding 
in his arms the apparently lifeless figure of Miss Dashwood. 

‘‘ Hold in !” shouted the ruffian, with a voice that rose high 
above all the other sounds. “ Hold in ! or, by the Eternal, I’ll 
throw her, body and bones, into the Lurra gash,” for such was 
the torrent called, that boiled and foamed a few yards before us. 

He had by this time got firmly planted on the hind seat, and 
held the drooping form on one arm, with all the ease of a giant’s 
grasp. 

“ For the love of God,” said I, pull up. I know him well ; 
he’ll do it to a certainty if you press on.” 

And we know you too,” said a ruffianly fellow, with a dark 
whisker meeting beneath his chin, and have some scores to settle 
ere we part ” 

But I heard no more. With one tremendous effort I dashed my 


64 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


horse forward. The carriage turned the angle of the road — for an 
instant was out of sight — another moment I was behind it. 

“ Stop I shouted, with a last elfort, but in vain. The horses, 
maddened and infuriated, sprang forward, and, heedless of all 
efforts to turn them, the leaders sprang over the low parapet of 
the bridge, and, hanging for a second by the traces, fell with a 
crash into the swollen torrent beneath. By this time I was beside 
the carriage — Finucane had now clambered to the box, and, re- 
gardless of the death and ruin around, bent upon his murderous 
object, he lifted the light and girlish form above his head, bent 
backwards, as if to give greater impulse to his efibrt, when, twin- 
ing my lash around my wrist, I levelled my heavy and loaded 
hunting whip at his head ; the weighted ball of lead struck him 
exactly beneath his hat : he staggered, his hands relaxed, and he fell 
lifeless to the ground : the same instant I was felled to the earth 
by a blow from behind, and saw no more. 


CHAPTER XII. 

MICKEY FREE. 

• Nearly three weeks followed the event I have just narrated 
ere I again was restored to consciousness. The blow by which I 
was felled, from what hand coming it was never after discovered, 
had brought on concussion of the brain, and for several days my 
life was despaired of. As by slow steps I advanced towards 
recovery, I learned from Considine that Miss Dashwood, whose 
life was saved by my interference, had testified, in the warmest 
manner, her gratitude, and that Sir George had, up to the period 
of his leaving the country, never omitted a single day to ride over 
and inquire for me. 

You know, of course,’^ said the Count, supposing such news 
was the most likely to interest me ; “you know we beat them.’’ 

“ No. Pray tell me all. They’ve not let me hear any thing 
hitherto.” 

“ One day finished the whole affair ; we polled man for man 
till past two o’clock, when our fellows lost all patience, and beat 
their tallies out of the town ; the police came up, but they beat 
the police ; then they got soldiers, but begad they were too strong 
for them too. Sir George witnessed it all, and, knowing besides 
how little chance he had of success, deemed it best to give in ; so 
that a little before five o’clock he resigned. I must say no man 
could behave better: he came across the hustings and shook 
hands with Godfrey, and, as the news of the scrimmage with 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


65 


his daughter had just arrived, said that he was sorry his pros- 
pect of success had not been greater, that, in resigning, he 
might testify how deeply he felt the debt the O’Malleys had 
laid him under.” 

“ And my micle, how did he receive his advances ?” 

“Like his own honest self, grasped his hand firmly, and upon 
my soul I think he was half sorry that he gained the day. Do 
you know he took a mighty fancy to that blue-eyed daughter of 
the old General’s — faith Charley, if he was some twenty years 

younger I would not say but . Come, come, I didn’t mean 

to hurt your feelings ; but I have been staying here too long : I’ll 
send up Mickey to sit with you ; mind and don’t be talking too* 
much to him.” 

So saying, the worthy Count left the room, fully impressed that, 
in hinting at the possibility of my uncle’s marrying again, he had 
said something to ruflle my temper. 

For the next two or three weeks, my life was one of the most 
tiresome monotony. Strict injunctions had been given by the 
doctors to avoid exciting me, and, consequently, every one that 
came in walked on tiptoe, spoke in whispers, and left me in 
five minutes. Reading was absolutely forbidden, and, with a 
sombre half light to sit in, and chicken broth to support nature, 
I dragged out as dreary an existence as any gentleman west 
of Athlone. 

Whenever my uncle or Considine were not in the room, my 
companion was my own servant, Michael, or, as he was better 
known, “ Mickey Free.” Now, had Mickey been left to his own 
free and unrestricted devices, the time would not have hung so 
heavily ; for, among Mike’s manifold gifts, he was possessed of a 
very great flow of gossiping conversation; he knew all that 
was doing in the country, and never was barren in his in- 
formation wherever his imagination could come into play. 
Mickey was the best hurler in the barony, no mean performer on 
the violin, could dance the national bolero of “ Tatter Jack W^alsh” 
in a way that charmed more than one soft heart beneath a red 
wolsey boddice, and had, withal, the peculiar free-and-easy devil- 
may-care kind of oflf-hand Irish way that never deserted him in 
the midst of his wiliest and most subtle moments, giving to a very 
deep and cunning fellow all the apparent frankness and openness 
of a country lad. 

He had attached himself to me as a kind of sporting companion ; 
and, growing daily more and more useful, had been gradually ad- 
mitted to the honours of the kitchen and the prerogatives of cast 
clothes ; without ever having been actually epgaged as a servant, 
and while thus no warrant officer, as in fact, he discharged all his 
duties well and punctually, was rated among the ship’s company ; 
though no one ever could say at what precise period he changed his 
caterpillar existence and became the gay butterfly, with cords and 
9 t2 


66 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


and tops, a striped vest, and a most knowing jerry hat, who stalked 
about the stable yard, and bullied the helpers. Such was Mike ; he 
had made his fortune, such as it was, and had a most becoming pride 
in the fact that he made himself indispensable to an establishment 
which, before he entered it, never knew the want of him. As for 
me, he was every thing to me : Mike informed me what horse 
was wrong, Avhy the chestnut mare couldn’t go out, and why the 
black horse could. He knew the arrival of a new covey of par- 
tridges quicker than the Morning Post does of a noble family 
from the Continent, and could tell their whereabouts twice as 
accurately ; but his talents took a wider range than field sports 
afford, and he was the faithful chronicler of every wake, station, 
wedding, or christening for miles round, and, as I took no small 
pleasure in those very national pastimes, the information was of 
great value to me. To conclude this brief sketch, Mike was a 
devout Catholic, in the same sense that he was enthusiastic about 
any thing, that is, he believed and obeyed exactly as far as suited 
his own peculiar notions of comfort and happiness ; beyond that 
his skepticism stepped in and saved him from inconvenience, and, 
though he might have been somewhat puzzled to reduce his 
faith to a rubric, still it answered his purpose, and that was 
all he wanted. Such, in short, was my valet, Mickey Free, 
and who, had not heavy injunctions been laid on him, as to 
silence and discretion, would well have lightened my weary 
hours. 

Ah ! then, Misther Charles,” said he, with a half-suppressed 
yawn at the long period of probation his tongue had been under- 
going in silence, ah ! then, but ye were mighty near it.” 

Near what ?” said I. 

“ Faith then, myself doesn’t well know ; some say it’s purga- 
thory ; but it’s hard to tell.” 

“ I thought you were too good a Catholic, Mickey, to show any 
doubts on the matter ?” 

Maybe I am — maybe I aint,” was the cautious reply. 

‘‘Wouldn’t Father Roach explain any of your difficulties for 
you, if you went over to him ?” 

“Faix it’s little I’d mind his explainings.” 

“ And why not ?” 

“Easy, enough. If you ax ould Miles there without^ what 
does he be doing with all the powther and shot, wouldn’t he tell 
you he’s shooting the rooks, and the magpies, and some other 
varmint ; but myself knows he sells it to Widow Casey, at two 
and four penOe a pound: so belikes Father Roach may be 
shooting away at the poor souls in purgathory, that all this 
time are enjoying the hoith of fine living in heaven, ye under- 
stand.” 

“ And you think that’s the way of it, Mickey ?” 

“ Troth, it’s likely. Anyhow, I know it’s not the place they 
make it out.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


67 


« Why, how do you mean 

Well, then, Fll tell you, Misther Charles ; but you must not 
be saying any thing about it afther ; for I don’t like to talk about 
these kind of things.” 

Having pledged myself to the requisite silence and secrecy, 
Mickey began ; — 

Maybe you heard tell of the way my father, rest his soul 
wherever he is, came to his end. Well, I needn’t mind particulars, 
but, in short, he was murdered in Ballinasloe one night, when he 
was baitin the whole town with a blackthorn stick he had, more 
betoken, a piece of a scythe was stuck at the end of it ; a nate 
weapon, and one he was mighty partial to ; but these murdering 
thieves, the cattle dealers, that never cared for diversion of any 
kind, fell on him and broke his skull. 

Well, we had a very agreeable wake, and plenty of the best 
of every thing, and to spare, and I thought it was all over ; but, 
somehow, though I paid Father Roach fifteen shillings, and made 
him mighty drunk, he always gave me a black look wherever I 
met him, and when I took off my hat, he’d turn away his head 
displeased like. 

Murder and ages,’ says I, ^what’s this for?’ but as I’ve a 
light heart, I bore up, and didn’t think more about it. One 
day, however, I was coming home from Athlone market, by my- 
self on the road, when Father Roach overtook me. ‘ Devil a one 
a me ’ill take any notice of you now,’ says I, ‘ and we’ll see what’ll 
come out of it.’ So the priest rid up, and looked me straight in 
the face. 

“ ‘ Mickey,’ says he, ‘ Mickey.’ 

‘ Father,’ says I. 

“ ‘ Is it that way you salute your clargy,’ says he, ^ with your 
caubeen on your head?’ 

“ ‘ Faix,’ says I, ‘ it’s little ye mind whether it’s an or aff, for you 
never take the trouble to say by your leave, or damn your soul, or 
any other politeness, when we meet.’ 

‘‘ ^ You’re an ungrateful creature,’ says he, ‘ and if you only 
knew, you’d be trembling in your skin before me, this minute.’ 

‘ Devil a tremble,’ says I, ^ after walking six miles this way.’ 

‘ You’re an obstinate, hard-hearted sinner,’ says he, ‘ and it’s 
no use in telling you.’ 

‘ Telling me what ?’ says I, for I was getting curious to make 
out what he meant. 

< Mickey,’ says he, changing his voice, and putting his head 
down close to me, ‘ Mickey, I saw your father last night.’ 

< The saints be merciful to us,’ said I, ‘ did ye ?’ 

‘ I did,’ said he. 

^ Tear-an-ages,’ says I, ^ did he tell you what he did with the 
new corduroys he bought in the fair ?’ 

‘ Oh ! then, you are a could-hearted creature,’ says he, ‘ and 
I’ll not lose time with you.’ With that he was going to ride away, 
when I took hold of the bridle. 


68 


CHARLES O^MALLEr, 


^ Father, darling,’ says I, ^ God pardon me, but them breeches 
is goin’ between me an’ my night’s rest ; but tell me about my 
father.’ 

‘ Oh ! then, he’s in a melancholy state !’ 

“ ‘ Whereabouts is he ?’ says I. 

‘ In purgathory,’ says he ; ‘ but he won’t be there long.’ 

“ ^ Well,’ says I, ‘ that’s a comfort anyhow.’ 

“ ‘ I am glad you think so,’ says he ; ‘ but there’s more of the 
other opinion.’ 

‘ What’s that says I. 

^ That hell’s worse.’ 

Oh ! meila-murther,’ says I, ‘is that it?’ 

“ ‘Ay, that’s it.’ 

“ Well, I was so terrified and frightened, I said nothing for some 
time, but trotted along beside the priest’s horse. 

‘“ Father,’ says I, ‘how long will it be before they send him 
where you know ?’ 

“ ‘ It will not be long now,’ says he, ‘ for they’re tired entirely 
with him : they’ve no peace night nor day,’ says he, ‘ Mickey, your 
father is a mighty hard man.’ 

“‘True for you. Father Roach,’ says I to myself: ‘av he 
had only the ould stick with the scythe in it, I wish them joy of 
his company.’ 

“ ‘ Mickey,’ says he, ‘ I see you’re grieved, and I don’t wonder ; 
sure, it’s a great disgrace to a decent family.’ 

“‘Troth it is,’ says I, ‘but my father always liked low com- 
pany. Could nothing be done for him now. Father Roach ?’ says 
I, looking up in the priest’s face. 

“ ‘ I’m greatly afraid, Mickey, he was a bad man, a very bad 
man.’ 

“‘ And ye think he’ll go there ?’ says I. 

“‘Indeed, Mickey, I have my fears.’ 

“‘Upon my conscience,’ says I, ‘ I believe you’re right, he was 
always a restless crayture.’ 

“ ‘ But it doesn’t depind on him,’ says the priest, crossly. 

“ ‘ And then, who then ?’ says I. 

“ ‘ Upon yourself, Mickey Free,’ says he ; ‘ God pardon you for 
it too.’ 

“ ‘ Upon me ?’ says I. 

“ ‘ Troth no less,’ says he ; ‘ how many masses was said for your 
father’s soul ? — how many aves ? — ^how many paters ? — ^answer 
me.’ 

“ ‘ Devil a one of me knows ! — may be twenty.’ 

“ ‘ Twenty, twenty — no, nor one.’ 

“ ‘ And why not ?’ says I, ‘ what for, wouldn’t you be helping 
a poor crayture out of trouble, when it wouldn’t cost you more 
nor a handful of prayers.’ 

“ ‘ Mickey, I see,’ says he, in a solemn tone, ‘ you’re worse noi 
a haythen : but ye couldn’t be other, ye never come to yer duties.’ 


THE IRISH DRAGOON 


69 


“^Well, Father,’ says I, iooking very penitent, ^how many- 
masses would get him out?’ 

‘ Now you talk like a sensible man,’ says he ; ‘ now, Mickey, 
I’ve hopes for you — let me see’ — here he went countin’ up his 
fingers, and numberin’ to himself for five minutes — ‘Mickey,’ 
says he, ‘ I’ve a batch coming out on Tuesday week, and, if you 
were to make great exertions, perhaps your father could come 
with them ; that is, av they made no objections.’ 

‘ And what for would they?’ says I ; ‘he was always the hoith 
of company, and av singing’s allowed in them parts ’ 

“ ‘ God forgive you, Mickey, but yer in a benighted state,’ says 
he, sighing. 

Well,’ says I, ‘how’ll we get him out Tuesday week? for 
that’s bringing things to a focus.’ 

“ ‘ Two masses in the morning, fastin’,’ says Father Roach, half 
loud, ‘ is two, and two in the afternoon is four, and two at vespers 
is six,’ says he ; ‘ six masses a day for nine days is close by sixty 
masses — say sixty,’ says he, ‘and they’ll cost you — mind, Mickey, 
and don’t be telling it again — for it’s only to yourself I’d make 
them so cheap — a matter of three pounds.’ 

“ ‘ Three pounds,’ says I, ‘ be-gorra ye might as well ax me to 
give you the rock of Cashel.’ 

“ ‘ I’m sorry for ye, Mickey,’ says he, gatherin’ up the reins to 
ride off, ‘ I’m sorry for you; and the day will come when the neg- 
lect of your poor father will be a sore stroke agin yourself.’ 

“ ‘ Wait a bit, your Reverence,’ says I, ‘ wait a bit : would forty 
shillings get him out ?’ 

“ ‘ Av course it wouldn’t,’ says he. 

“ ‘ Maybe,’ says I, coaxing, ‘ maybe, av you say that his son 
was a poor boy that lived by his indhustry, and the times was 
bad?’ 

“ ‘ Not tlie least use,’ says he. 

“ ‘ Arrah, but it’s hard-hearted they are,’ thinks I ; ‘ well, see 
now. I’ll give you the money — but I can’t afford it all at on’st — 
but I’ll pay you five shillings a week — will that do ?’ 

“ ‘ I’ll do my endayvours,’ says Father Roach ; ‘ and I’ll speak 
to them to trate him peaceably, in the mean time.’ 

“ ‘ Long life to your Reverence and do. Well, here now, here’s 
five hogs to begin with ; and, musha, but I never thought I’d be 
spending my loose change that a way.’ 

“ Father Roach put the six tinpinnies in the pocket of his black 
leather breeches, said something in Latin, bid me good morning, 
and rode off. 

“ Well, to make my story short, I worked late and early to pay 
the five shillings a week, and I did do it for three weeks regular ; 
then I brought four and fourpence — then it came down to one and 
tenpence halfpenny — then ninepence — and, at last, I had nothing 
at all to bring.' 


70 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


‘‘ ‘ Mickey Free/ says the priest, ^ ye must stir yourself — your 
father is mighty displeased at the way you’ve been doing of late ; 
and av ye kept yer word, he’d been near out by this time.’ 

‘ Troth,’ says I, ‘ it’s a very expensive place.’ 

‘‘‘By coorse it is,’ says he, ‘sure all the quality of the land’s 
there. But, Mickey, my man, with a little exertion, your father’s 
business is done. What are you jingling in your pocket there ?’ 

“ ‘ It’s ten shillings, your Reverence, I have to buy seed pota- 
toes.’ 

“ ‘ Hand it here, my son. Isn’t it better your father be enjoying 
himself in Paradise, then ye were to have all the potatoes in Ire- 
land ?’ 

“‘And how do ye know,’ says I, ‘ he’s so near out ?’ 

“ ‘ How do I know — how do I know — is it ? — didn’t I see him.’ 

“ ‘ See him ! tear-an-ages, was you down there again ?’ 

“ ‘ I was,’ says he, ‘ I was down there for three quarters of an 
hour yesterday evening, getting out Luke Kennedy’s mother — 
decent people the Kennedys — never spared expense.’ 

“ ‘ And ye seen my father ?’ says I. 

“ ‘ I did,’ says he ; ‘he had an ould flannel waistcoat on, and a 
pipe sticking out of the pocket av it.’ 

“ ‘ That’s him,’ said I ; ‘ had he a hairy cap ?’ 

“‘I didn’t mind the cap,’ says he, ‘but av coorse he wouldn’t 
have it on his head in that place.’ 

“ ‘ There’s for you,’ says I, ‘ did he speak to you ?’ 

“ ‘ He did,’ says Father Roach ; ‘ he spoke very hard about the 
way he was treated down there, that they were always jibin’ and 
jeerin’ him about drink ; and fightin’, and the courses he led up 
here, and that it was a queer thing, for the matter of ten shillings, 
he was to be kept there so long.’ 

“ ‘ Well,’ says I, taking out the ten shillings and counting it with 
one hand, ‘ we must do our best, anyhow — and ye think this ’ill 
get him out surely ?’ 

“‘I know it will,’ says he; ‘for when Luke’s mother was 
leaving the place, yer father saw the door open, he made a rush 
at it, and, be-gorra, before it was shut he got his head and one 
shoulder outside av it, so that ye see, a trifle more ’ill do it.’ 

“ ‘ Faix, and yer Reverence,’ says I, ‘you’ve lightened my heart 
this morning,’ and I put the money back again into my pocket. 

“ ‘ Why, what do you mean ?’ says he, growing very red, for he 
was angry. 

“‘Just this,’ says I, ‘that I’ve saved my money : for av it was 
my father you seen, and that he got his head and one shoulder outside 
the door, oh, then, by the powers,’ says I, ‘ the devil a jail or 
jailer from hell to Connaught id hould him ; so. Father Roach, I 
wish you the top of the morning,’ and I went away laughing ; 
and from that day to this I never heard more of purgathory ; and 
ye see, Misther Charles, I think I was right.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


71 


Scarcely had Mike concluded when my door was suddenly 
burst open, and Sir Harry Boyle, without assuming any of his 
usual precautions respecting silence and quiet, rushed into the 
room. A broad grin upon his honest features, ana his eyes 
twinkling in a way that evidently showed me something had 
occurred to amuse him. 

“ By Jove, Charley, I musn’t keep it from you ; iCs too good a 
thing not to tell you : do you remember that very essenced young 
gentleman who accompanied Sir George Dashwood from Dublin, 
as a kind of electioneering friend ?” 

“ Do you mean Mr. Pretty man?” 

“ The very man ; he was, you are aware, an under secretary 
in some government department. Well, it seems that h,e had 
come down among us, poor savages, as much from motives of 
learned research and scientific inquiry, as though we had been 
South Sea islanders : report had gifted us, humble Galwagians, 
with some very peculiar traits, and this gifted individual resolved 
to record them. Whether the election week might have sufficed 
his appetite for wonders, I know not; but he was peaceably 
taking his departure from the West on Saturday last, when 
Phil Macnamara met him, and pressed him to dine that day 
with a few friends at his house. — You know Phil; so that when 
I tell you, Sam Burke, of Greenmount, and Roger Doolan were 
of the party, I need not say that the English traveller was not 
left to his own unassisted imagination for his facts : such anec- 
dotes of our habits and customs as they crammed him with, it 
would appear never were heard before — nothing was too hot or 
too heavy for the luckless cockney, who, when not sipping his 
claret, was faithfully recording in his tablet the mems. for a very 
brilliant and very original work on Ireland. 

“‘Fine country — splendid country — glorious people — gifted — 
brave — intelligent — but not happy — alas ! Mr. Macnamara, not 
happy. But we don’t know you, gentlemen — we don’t indeed, 
at the other side of the channel ; our notions regarding you are 
far, very far from just.’ 

“ ‘ I hope and trust,’ said old Burke, ‘ you’ll help them to a bet- 
ter understanding ere long.’ 

“‘Such, my dear sir, will be the proudest task of my life — 
the facts I have heard here this evening have made so profound 
an impression upon me, that I burn for the moment when I can 
make them known to the world at large ; to think — just to think, 
that a portion of this beautiful island should be so steeped in 
poverty — that the people not only live upon the mere potatoes, 
but are absolutely obliged to wear the skins for raiment, as Mr. 
Doolan has just mentioned to me.’ 

“ ‘ Which accounts for our cultivation of lumpers,’ added Mr. 
Doolan, ‘ they being the largest species of the root, and best adapted 
for wearing apparel.’ 


72 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


should deem myself culpable, indeed I should, did I not 
inform my countrymen upon the real condition of this great 
country.’ > * 

‘‘‘Why, after your great opportunities for judging,’ said PhiJ, 
‘you ought to speak out — you’ve seen us in a way, I may fairly 
affirm, few Englishmen have, and heard more.’ 

“ ‘ That’s it, that’s the very thing, Mr. Macnamara : I’ve looked 
at you more closely, I’ve watched you more narrowly, I’ve wit- 
nessed what the French call your vie intime.’ 

“ ‘ Begad you have,’ said old Burke, with a grin, ‘ and profited 
by it to the utmost.’ 

“ ‘ I’ve been a , spectator of your election contests — I’ve par- 
taken of your hospitality — I’ve witnessed your popular and na- 
tional sports — I’ve been present at your weddings, your fairs, your 
wakes — ^but no, I was forgetting, I never saw a wake.’ 

“ ‘ Never saw a wake !’ repeated each of the company in turn, 
as though the gentleman was uttering a sentiment of very dubious 
veracity. 

“‘Never,’ said Mr. Prettyman, rather abashed at this proof of 
his incapacity to instruct his English friends upon all matters of 
Irish interest. 

“ ‘ Well, then,’ said Macnamara, ‘ with a blessing, we’ll show 
you one. Lord forbid that we shouldn’t do the honours of our 
poor country to an intelligent foreigner, when he’s good enough to 
come amongst us.’ 

“ ‘ Peter,’ said he, turning to the servant behind him, ‘ who’s 
dead hereabouts?’ 

“ ‘ Sorra one, yer honour. Since the scrimmage at Portumna 
the place is peaceable.’ 

“ ‘ Who died lately, in the neighbourhood ?’ 

“ ‘ The Widow Macbride, yer honour.’ , 

“‘Couldn’t they take her up again, Peter? My friend here 
never saw a wake.’ 

“ ‘ I’m afeerd not ; for it was the boys roasted her, and she 
wouldnn’t be a decent corpse for to show a stranger,’ said Peter 
in a whisper. 

“ Mr. Prettyman shuddered at these peaceful indications of the 
neighbourhood, and said nothing. 

“‘Well, then, Peter, tell Jemmy Divine to take the old musket 
in my bed-room, and go over to the Clunagh bog : he can’t go 
wrong : there’s twelve families there that never pay a half-penny 
rent ; and when it’s done, let him give notice to the neighbour- 
hood, and we’ll have a rousing wake.’ 

“ ‘ You don’t mean, Mr. Macnamara — you don’t mean to say 
,’ stammered out the cockney, with a face like a ghost. 

“ ‘ I only mean to say,’ said Phil, laughing, ‘ that you’re keep- 
ing the decanter very long at your right hand.’ 

“ Burke contrived to interpose before the Englishman could ask 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


73 


any explanation of what he had just heard, and for some minutes 
he could only wait in impatient anxiety, when a loud report of a 
gun close beside the house attracted the attention of the guests : 
the next moment old Peter entered, his face radiant with smiles. 

‘‘ ‘ Well, what’s that ?’ said Macnamara. 

‘“’Twas Jimmy, yer honour: as the evening was rainy, he 
said he’d take one of the neighbours, and he hadn’t to go far ; 
for Andy Moore was going home, and he brought him down 
at once.’ 

“ ‘ Did he shoot him ?’ said Mr. Prettyman, while cold perspira- 
tion broke over his forehead. ‘ Did he murder the man r 

“ ‘ Sorra murder,’ said Peter disdainfully ; ‘ but why wouldn’t 
he shoot him when the master bid him ?’ 

“ I needn’t tell you more, Charley ; but in ten minutes after, feign- 
ing some excuse to leave the room, the terrified cockney took 
flight, and offering twenty guineas for a horse to convey him to 
Athlone, he left Galway, fully convinced that they don’t yet 
know us on the other side of the channel.’ ” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE JOURNEY. 

The election concluded — the turmoil and excitement of the con- 
test over — all was fast resuming its accustomed routine around us, 
when one morning my uncle informed me that I was at length 
to leave my native county, and enter upon the great world as 
a student of Trinity College, Dublin. Although long since in 
expectation of this eventful change, it was with no slight feel- 
ing of emotion I contemplated the step, which, removing me at 
once from all my early friends and associations, was to surround 
me with new companions and new influences, and place before 
me very different objects of ambition from those I had hitherto 
been regarding. 

My destiny had been long ago decided ; the army had had its 
share of the family, who brought little more back with them from 
the wars, than a short allowance of members and shattered consti- 
tutions ; the navy had proved on more than one occasion, that the 
fate of the O’Malleys did not incline to hanging ; so that, in Irish 
estimation, but one alternative remained, and that was the bar. 
Besides, as my uncle remarked with great truth and foresight, 
“ Charley will be tolerably independent of the public, at all events ; 
for, even if they never send him a brief, there’s law enough in the 
family to last his time” — a rather novel reason, by the bye, for 
G 10 


74 


CHxVRLES o’mALLEY, 


making a man a lawyer, and which induced Sir Harry, with his 
usual clearness, to observe to me. 

Upon my conscience, boy, you are in luck : if there had been 
a Bible in the house, I firmly believe he’d have made you a 
parson.” 

Considine alone, of all my uncle’s advisers, did not concur in 
this determination respecting me. He set forth, wfith an eloquence 
that certainly converted me^ that my head was better calculated 
for bearing hard knocks, than unravelling knotty points ; that a 
shacko would become it infinitely better than a wig ; and declared 
roundly, that a boy who began so well, and had such very pretty 
notions about shooting, was positively thrown awa}’^ in the Four 
Courts. My uncle, however, was firm ; and as old Sir Harry sup- 
ported him, the day was decided against us, Considine murmur- 
ing, as he left the room, something that did not seem quite a bril- 
liant anticipation of the success awaiting me in my legal career. 
As for myself, though only a silent spectator of the debate, all my 
wishes were with the Count. From my earliest boyhood a mili- 
tary life had been my strongest desire : the roll of the drum, and 
the shrill fife that played through the little village, with its ragged 
troop of recruits following, had charms for me I cannot describe ; 
and, had a choice been allowed me, I would infinitely rather have 
been a sergeant in the dragoons, than one of his Majesty’s learned 
in the law. If, then, such had been the cherished feeling of many 
a year, how much more strongly were my aspirations heightened 
by the events of the last few days. The tone of superiority I had 
witnessed in Hammersly, whose conduct to me at parting had 
placed him high in my esteem — the quiet contempt of civilians, 
implied in a thousand sly ways — the exalted estimate of his own 
profession, at once wounded my pride and stimulated my ambi- 
tion ; and, lastly, more than all, the avowed preference that Lucy 
Dashwood evinced for a military life, were stronger allies than my 
own conviction needed, to make me long for the army. So com- 
pletely did the thought possess me, that I felt, if I were not a sol- 
dier, I cared not what became of me. Life had no other object 
of ambition for me than military renown, no other success for 
which I cared to struggle, or would value when obtained. Aut 
Csesar aut millus, thought I ; and, when my uncle determined I 
should be a. lawyer, I neither murmured nor objected, but hugged 
myself in the prophecy of Considine, that hinted pretty broadly, 
the devil a stupider fellow ever opened a brief ; but he’d have 
made a slashing light dragoon.” 

The preliminaries were not long in arranging. It was settled 
that I should be immediately despatched to Dublin, to the care of 
Doctor Mooney, then a junior Fellow in the University, who 
would take me into his especial charge ; while Sir Harry was to 
furnish me with a letter to his old friend Dr. Barret, whose advice 
and assistance he estimated at a very high price. Provided with 


TilE IRISH DRAGOON. 


75 


such documents, I was informed that the gates of knowledge were 
more than half ajar for me, without an effort upon my part. One 
only portion of all the arrangements I heard with any thing like 
pleasure ; it was decided that my man Mickey was to accompany 
me to Dublin, and remain with me during my stay. 

It was upon a clear sharp morning in January, of tiie year IS — , 
that I took my place upon the box-seat of the old Galway Mail, 
and set out on my journey. My heart was depressed, and my 
spirits were miserably low. I had all that feeling of sadness 
which leave-taking inspires, and no sustaining prospect to cheer 
me in the distance. For the first time in my life, I had seen a tear 
glisten in my poor uncle’s eye, and heard his voice falter as he 
said ‘^farewell !” Notwithstanding the difference of age, we had 
been perfectly companions together ; and, as I thought now over 
all the thousand kindnesses and affectionate instances of his love 
I had received, my heart gave way, and the tears coursed slowly 
down my cheeks. I turned to give one last look at the tall chim- 
neys and the old woods, my earliest friends ; but a turn of the 
road had shut out the prospect, and thus I took my leave of 
Galway. 

My friend Mickey, who sat behind with the guard, participated 
but little in my feelings of regret. The potatoes in the metropolis 
could scarcely be as wet as the lumpers in Scariff ; he had heard 
that whisky was not dearer, and looked forward to the other de- 
lights of the capital with a longing heart. Meanwhile, resolved 
that no portion of his career should be lost, he was lightening the 
road by anecdote and song, and had an audience of four people, a 
very crusty -looking old guard included, iu roars of laughter. Mike 
had contrived, with his usual savoir faire, to make himself very 
agreeable to ’^an extremely pretty-looking country-girl, around 
whose waist he had most lovingly passed his arm, under pretence 
of keeping her from falling, and to whom, in the midst of all his 
attentions to the party at large, he devoted himself considerably, 
pressing his suit with all the aid of his native minstrelsy. 

Hould me tight. Miss Matilda, dear.” 

‘^My name’s Mary Brady, av ye plase.” 

Ay, and I do plase. 

“ Oh, Mary Brady, you are my darlin’, 

Ye are my loolung'-glass, from night till morning; 

I’d rayther have ye without one farthen, 

Nor Shusey Gallagher and her house and garden. 

May I never av I wouldn’t then, and ye needn’t be laugh- 
ing.” 

Is his honour at home?” 

This speech was addressed to a gaping country fellow, that 
leaned on his spade to see the coach pass. 

Is his honour at home ? I’ve something for him from Mr 
Davern.” 


76 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


Mickey well knew that few western gentlemen were without 
constant intercourse with the Athlone attorney. The poor country- 
man accordingly hastened through the fence, and pursued the coach 
with all speed for above a mile, Mike pretending all the time to he 
in the greatest anxiety for his overtaking them ; until at last, as 
he stopped in despair, a hearty roar of laughter told him that, in 
Mickey’s parlance, he was “ sould.” 

Taste it, my dear : devil a harm it’ll do ye ; it never paid the 
king’s sixpence.” 

Here he filled a little horn vessel from a black bottle he carried, 
accompanying the action with a song, the air to which, if any of 
my readers feel disposed to sing it, I may observe, bore a resem- 
blance to the well known, a fig for St. Denis of France.” 

UpOTTEEN, GOOD LUCK TO YE, DEAR. 

“ Av I was a monarch in state ; 

Like Romulus or Julius Caysar, 

With the best of fine victuals to eat, 

And drink, like great Nebuchadnezzar, 

A rasher of bacon I’d have, 

And potatoes the finest was seen, sir; 

And for drink, it’s no claret I’d crave, 

But a keg of ould Mullens’ potteen, sir. 

With the smell of the smoke on it still. 

“ They talk of the Romans of ould. 

Whom they say in their own times was frisky ; 

But, trust me, to keep out the cowld 
The Romans at home here like whisky. 

Sure it warms both the head and the heart. 

It’s the soul of all readin’ and writin’ ; 

It teaches both science and art. 

And disposes for love or for fightin’. 

Oh, potteen, good luck to ye, dear.” 

This very classic production, and the black bottle which accom- 
panied it, completely established the singer’s pre-eminence in the 
company ; and I heard sundry sounds resembling drinking, with 
frequent good wishes to the provider of the feast. Long life to 
ye, Mr. Free,” ‘‘ Your health, and inclinations, Mr. Free,” &c. ; to 
which Mr. Free responded, by drinking those of the company, 
‘‘ av they were vartuous.” The amicable relations thus happily 
established, promised a very lasting reign, and would, doubtless, 
have enjoyed such, had not a slight incident occurred, which for 
a brief season interrupted them. At the village where we stopped 
to breakfast, three very venerable figures presented themselves for 
places in the inside of the coach : they were habited in black coats, 
breeches, and gaiters, wore hats of a very ecclesiastic breadth in 
their brim, and had altogether the peculiar air and bearing which 
distinguishes their calling, being no less than three Roman Catholic 
prelates on their way to Dublin to attend a convocation. While 
Mickey and his friends, with the ready tact which every low Irish- 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


77 


man possesses, immediately perceived who and what these wor- 
shipful individuals were, another traveller, who had just assumed 
his place on the outside, participated but little in the feelings of 
reverence so manifestly displayed, but gave a sneer of a very omi- 
nous kind, as the skirt of the last black coat disappeared within 
the coach. This latter individual was a short, thick-set, bandy- 
legged man, of about fifty, with an enormous nose, which, what- 
ever its habitual colouring, on the morning in question was of a 
brilliant purple. He wore a blue coat, with bright buttons, upon 
which some letters were inscribed, and around his neck was 
fastened a ribbon of the same colour, to which a medal was at- 
tached. This he displayed with something of ostentation, when- 
ever an opportunity occurred, and seemed altogether a person who 
possessed a most satisfactory impression of his own importance. 
In fact, had not this feeling been participated in by others, Mr. 
Billy Crow would never have been deputed by No. 13,476 to carry 
their warrant down to the west country, and establish the nucleus 
of an Orange Lodge in the town of Foxleigh ; such being, in brief, 
the reason why he, a very well known manufacturer of leather 
continuations’’ in Dublin, had ventured upon the perilous journey 
from which he was now returning. Billy was going on his way 
to town rejoicing, for he had had a most brilliant success; 
the brethren had feasted and feted him ; he had made several 
splendid orations, with the usual number of prophecies about the 
speedy downfall of Romanism ; the inevitable return of Protestant 
ascendancy ; the pleasing prospect that, with increased effort and 
improved organization, they should soon be able to have every 
thing their own way, and clear the green isle of the horrible ver- 
min St. Patrick forgot, when banishing the others ; and that, if 
Daniel O’Connell, (whom might the Lord confound,) could only 
be hanged, and Sir Harcourt Lees made primate of all Ireland, 
there were still some hopes of peace and prosperity to the country. 

Mr. Crow had no sooner assumed his place upon the coach than 
he saw that he was in the camp of the enemy. Happily for all 
parties, indeed, in Ireland, political differences have so completely 
stamped the externals of each party, that he must be a man of 
small penetration, who cannot, in the first five minutes he is 
thrown among strangers, calculate with considerable certainty, 
whether it will be more conducive to his happiness to sing, ‘‘Crop- 
pies lie down,” or “the battle of Ross.” As for Billy Crow, long 
life to him, you might as well attempt to pass a turkey upon M. 
Audubon for a giraffe, as endeavour to impose a papist upon him 
for a true follower of King William. He could have given you 
more generic distinctions to guide you in the decisions, than ever 
did Cuviei: to designate an antedeluvian mammoth; so that no 
sooner had he seated himself upon the coach, than he buttoned up 
his great coat, stuck his hands firmly in his side pockets, pursed 
up his lips, and looked altogether like a man that, feeling himself 


78 


CHARLES 0 M ALLEY, 


out of his element, resolves to ^‘bide his time” in patience, until 
chance may throw him among more congenial associates. Mickey 
Free, who was himself no mean proficient in reading a character, 
at one glance saw his man, and began hammering his brains to see 
if he could not overreach him. The small portmanteau Avhich 
contained Billy’s wardrobe, bore the conspicuous announcement 
of his name ; and, as Mickey could read, this was one important 
step already gained. 

He accordingly took the first opportunity of seating himself 
beside him, and opened the conversation by some very polite 
observation upon the other’s wearing apparel, which is always, in 
the west, considered a piece of very courteous attention. By 
degrees the dialogue prospered, and Mickey began to make some 
very important revelations about himself and his master, intimating 
that the state of the conntry” was such that a man of his way 
of thinking had no peace or quiet in it. 

That’s him there, foment ye,” said Mickey, and a better 
Protestant never hated mass. Ye understand.” 

What !” said Billy, unbuttoning the collar of his coat, to 
get a fairer view at his companion ; why I thought you 
were ’ 

Here he made some resemblance of the usual manner of bless- 
ing oneself. 

Me, devil a more nor yourself, Mr. Crow.” 

Why, do you know me too ?” 

Troth, more knows you than you think.” 

Billy looked very much puzzled at all this ; at last he said — 

“ And ye tell me that your master there’s the right-sort ?” 

Thrue blue,” said Mike, with a wink, ‘‘and so is his uncles.” 

“ And where are they, when they are at home ?” 

“ In Galway, no less ; but they’re here now.” 

“ Where ?” 

“ Here.” 

At these words he gave a knock of his heel to the coach, as if 
to intimate their “ whereabouts.” 

‘£ You don’t mean* in the coach — do ye ?” 

“ To be sure, I do ; and troth you can’t know much of the 
west, av ye don’t know the three Mr. Trenchers of Tallybash ! 
them’s they.” 

“ You don’t say so ?” 

“ Faix, but I do.” 

“ May I never drink the 12th July, if I didn’t think they were 
priests.” 

“ Priests !” said Mickey, in a roar of laughter, “ priests !” 

“ Just priests.” 

“ Begorra, though, ye had better keep that to yourself ; for 
they’re not the men to have that same said to them.” 

“ Of course, I wouldn’t offend them,” said Mr. Crow ; “ faith, 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


79 


it’s not me would cast reflections upon such real out-and-outers as 
they are. And where are they going now ?” 

‘‘ To Dublin straight ; there’s to be a grand lodge next week ; 
but sure Mr. Crow knows better than me.” 

Billy after this became silent. A moody reverie seemed to steal 
over him, and he was evidently displeased with himself for his 
want of tact in not discovering the three Mr. Trenchers of Tally- 
bash, though he only caught sight of their backs. 

Mickey Free interrupted not the frame of mind in which he saw 
conviction was slowly working its way, but, by gently humming, 
in an under tone, the loyal melody of Croppies lie down,” fanned 
the flame he had so dexterously kindled. At length, they reached 
the small town of Kinnegad. While the coach changed horses, 
Mr. Crow lost not a moment in descending from the top, and, 
rushing into the little inn, disappeared for a few moments. When 
he again issued forth, he carried a smoking tumbler of whisky 
punch, which he continued to stir with a spoon. As he approached 
the coach-door he tapped gently with his knuckles, upon which 
the reverend prelate of Maronia, or Mesopotamia, I forget which, 
inquired what he wanted. 

“I ask your pardon, gentlemen,” said Billy, ^‘but I thought I’d 
make bold to ax you to taste something warm, this cold day.” 

Many thanks, my good friend ; but we never do,” said a bland 
voice from within. 

I understand,” said Billy, with a sly wink ; “ but there 
are circumstances now and then— and one might for the 
honour of the cause, you know. Just put it to your lips, 
won’t you ?” 

Excuse me,” said a very rosy -cheeked little prelate ; “ but 
nothing stronger than water.” 

Botheration,” thought Billy, as he regarded the speaker’s 
nose. But I thought,” said he aloud, ‘^that you would not refuse 
this.” 

Here he made a peculiar manifestation in the air, which, what- 
ever respect and reverence it might carry to the honest brethren 
of 13,476, seemed only to increase the wonder and astonishment 
of the bishops. 

What does he mean ?” said one. 

<Hs he mad?” said another. 

‘‘ Tear-and-ages,” said Mr. Crow, getting quite impatient at the 
slowness of his friends’ perception, ‘‘tear-and-ages, I’m one of 
yourselves.” 

“ One of us,” said the three in chorus, “ one of us ?” 

“Ay, to be sure,” here he took a long pull at the punch ; “ to be 
sure I am ; here’s ‘ no surrender,’ your souls ! whoop” — a loud 
yell accompanying the toast as he drank it. 

“ Do you mean to insult us?” said Father P . “Guard, take 

this fellow.” 


80 


CHAllLES o’MALLEr, 


Are we to be outraged in this manner?’^ chorused the priests. 

‘ July the First, in Oldbridge town,’ ” sung Billy, and here 
it is, ‘ the glorious, pious, and immortal memory, of the great, and 
good — 

Guard ! where is the guard 

‘‘ ^ And good King William, that saved us from popery’ — ” 

^‘Coachman! guard!” screamed Father . 

“ ‘ Brass money’ — ” 

Policemen ! policemen !” shouted the priests. 

“ ‘ Brass-money and wooden shoes ;’ devil may care who hears 
me,” said Billy, who, supposing that the three Mr. Trenchers were 
skulking the avowal of their principles, resolved to assert the pre- 
eminence of the great cause, single-handed and alone. 

“ ‘ Here’s the Pope in the pillory, and the devil pelting him with 
priests.’ ” 

At these words a kick from behind apprized the loyal champion 
that a very ragged auditory, who, for some time past, had not 
well understood the gist of his eloquence, had at length compre- 
hended enough to be angry. Ce n’est que le premier pas qiii 
coute, certainly, in an Irish row. The merest urchin may light 
the train ; one handful of mud often ignites a shindy that ends in 
a most bloody battle and here, no sooner did the vis a tergo 
impel Billy forward, than a severe rap of a closed fist in the eye, 
drove him back ; and in one instant he became the centre to a 
periphery of kicks, cuffs, pullings, and haulings, that left the poor 
deputy grand not only orange, but blue. 

He fought manfully, but numbers carried the day ; and, when 
the coach drove off, which it did at last without him, the last thing 
visible to the outsides was the figure of Mr. Crow, whose hat, 
minus the crown, had been driven over his head, down upon his 
neck, where it remained like a dress cravat, buffeting a mob of 
ragged vagabonds, who had so completely metamorphosed the un- 
fortunate man with mud and bruises, that a committee of the 
grand lodge might actually have been unable to identify him. 

As for Mickey and his friends behind, their mirth knew no 
bounds ; and, except the respectable insides, there was not an in- 
dividual about the coach who ceased to think of, and laugh at the 
incident, till we arrived in Dublin, and drew up at the Hibernian, 
in Dawson-street. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


81 


CHAPTER XIV. 

DUBLIN. 

No sooner had I arrived in Dublin, than my first care was to 
present myself to Dr. Mooney, by whom I was received in the 
most cordial manner. In fact, in my utter ignorance of such per- 
sons, I had imagined a College-fellow to be a character necessarily 
severe and unbending ; and, as the only two very great people I 
had ever seen in my life were the Archbishop of Tuam, and the 
Chief Baron, when on circuit, I pictured to myself that a Uni- 
versity-fellow was, in all probability, a cross between the two, and 
feared him accordingly. 

The Doctor read over my uncle’s letter attentively, invited me 
to partake of his breakfast, and then entered upon something like 
an account of the life before me, for which Sir Harry Boyle had, 
however, in some degree prepared me. 

Your uncle, I find, wishes you to live in college ; perhaps it 
is better, too ; so that I must look out for chambers for you. Let 
me see : it will be rather difficult, just now, to find them.” Here 
he fell for some moments into a musing fit, and merely muttered a 
few broken sentences, as, “ To be sure, if other chambers could be 
had — ^but then — and, after all, perhaps, as he is young — besides, 
Frank will certainly be expelled before long, and then he will 
have them all to himself. I say, O’Malley, I believe I must quar- 
ter you for the present with a rather wild companion ; but, as 
your uncle says you’re a prudent fellow” — here he smiled very 
much, as if my uncle had not said any such thing — why, you 
must only take the better care of yourself, until we can make 
some better arrangement. My pupil, Frank Webber, is at this 
moment in want of a ^chum,’ as the phrase is ; his last three 
having only been domesticated with him for as many weeks ; so 
that, until we find you a more quiet resting-place, you may take 
up your abode with him.” 

During breakfast, the Doctor proceeded to inform me that my 
destined companion was a young man of excellent family and 
good fortune, who, with very considerable talents and acquire- 
ments, preferred a life of rackety and careless dissipation to pros- 
pects of great success in public life, which his connexion and 
family might have secured for him ; that he had been originally 
entered at Oxford, which he was obliged to leave; then tried 
Cambridge, from which he escaped expulsion by. being rusticated, 
that is, having incurred a sentence of temporary banishment ; and 
lastly, was endeavouring, with what he himself believed to be 
11 


82 CHARLES o’mALLEY, 

a total reformation, to stumble on to a degree in the ‘^silent 
sister/’ 

‘‘ This is his third year,” said the Doctor, and he is only a 
freshman, having lost every examination, with abilities enough to 
sweep the university of its prizes. But, come over, now, and I’ll 
present you to him.” 

I followed him down stairs, across the court, to an angle of the 
old square, where, up the first floor, left, to use the college direc- 
tion, stood the name of Mr. Webber, a large No. 2 being conspi- 
cuously painted in the middle of the door, and not over it, as is 
usually the custom. As we reached the spot, the observations of 
my companion were lost to me, in the tremendous noise and up- 
roar that resounded from within. It seemed as if a number of 
people were fighting, pretty much as a banditti in a melo-drama 
do, with considerably more of confusion than requisite ; a fiddle 
and a French horn also lent their assistance to shouts and cries, 
which, to say the best, were not exactly the aids to study I ex- 
pected in such a place. 

Three times was the bell pulled, with a vigour that threatened 
its downfall, when, at last, as the jingle of it rose above all other 
noises, suddenly all became hushed and still ; a momentaiy pause 
succeeded, and the door was opened by a very respectable-looking 
servant, who, recognising the Doctor, at once introduced us into 
the apartment where Mr. Webber was sitting. 

In a large and very handsomely furnished room, where Brussels 
carpeting and softly cushioned sofas contrasted strangely with the 
meagre and comfortless chambers of the Doctor, sat a young man 
at a small breakfast-table, beside the fire. He was attired in a 
silk dressing-gown and black velvet slippers, and supported his 
forehead upon a hand of most lady-like whiteness, whose fingers 
were absolutely covered with rings of great beauty and price. 
His long silky brown hair fell in rich profusion upon the back of 
his neck, and over his arm, and the whole air and attitude was 
one which a painter might have copied. So intent was he upon 
the volume before him, that he never raised his head at our ap- 
proach, but continued to read aloud, totally unaware of our pre- 
sence. 

“ Dr. Mooney, sir,” said the servant. 

Ton dapamey bominos, prosephe, crione Jigamemnon^^ re- 
peated the student in an ecstasy, and not paying the slightest atten- 
tion to the announcement. 

« Dr. Mooney, sir,” repeated the servant in a louder tone, while 
the Doctor looked around on every side for an explanation of the 
late uproar, with a face of the most puzzled astonishment. 

« Bt dakiown para thina dolekoskion said Mr. Web- 

ber, finishing a cup of coffee at a draught. 

“ Well, Webber, hard at work, I see,” said the Doctor. 

« Ah, Doctor, I beg pardon ! Have you been long here ?” said 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


83 


the most soft and insinuating voice, while the speaker passed his 
taper fingers across his brow, as if to dissipate the traces of deep 
thought and study. 

While the Doctor presented me to my future companion, I 
could perceive in the restless and searching look he threw around, 
that the fracas he had so lately heard was still an unexplained and 
vexata questio in his mind. 

May I offer you a cup of coffee, Mr. O’Malley ?” said the 
youth with an air of almost timid bashfulness. “ The Doctor, I 
know, breakfasts at a very early hour.” 

‘‘ I say, Webber,” said the Doctor, who could no longer restrain 
his curiosity, what an awful row I heard here as I came up to 
the door. I thought Bedlam was broke loose. What could it 
have been ?” 

‘‘ Ah, you heard it, too, sir,” said Mr. Webber, smiling most 
benignly. 

Hear it ; to be sure I did. O’Malley and I could not hear 
ourselves talking with the uproar.” 

‘‘Yes, indeed, it is very provoking; but, then, what’s to be 
done ? One can’t complain, under the circumstances.” 

“ Why, what do you mean ?” said Mooney, anxiously. 

“ Nothing, sir ; nothing. I’d much rather you’d not ask me ; 
for, after all. I’ll change my chambers.” 

“ But why ? ^ Explain this at once. I insist upon it ?” 

“ Can I depend upon the discretion of your young friend said 
Mr. Webber, gravely. 

“ Perfectly,” said the Doctor, now wound up to the greatest 
anxiety to learn a secret. 

“ And you’ll promise not to mention the thing, except among 
your friends.” 

“ I do,” said the Doctor. 

“ Well, then,” said he, in a low and confident whisper, “ it’s the 
Dean.” 

“ The Dean !” said Mooney, with a start. “ The Dean ! Why, 
how can it be the Dean?” 

“ Too true,” said Mr. Webber, making a sign of drinking ; “ too 
true. Doctor. And then, the moment he is so, he begins smashing 
the furniture. Never was any thing heard like it. As for me, as 
I am now becoming a reading man, I must go elsewhere.” 

Now, it so chanced that the worthy Dean, who, albeit, a man 
of most abstemious habits, possessed a nose which, in colour and 
development, was a most unfortunate witness to call to character, 
and as Mooney heard Webber narrate circumstantially the fright- 
ful excesses of the great functionary, I saw that something like 
conviction was stealing over him. 

“ You’ll, of course, never speak of this, except to your most inti- 
mate friends,” said Webber. 

“ Of course not,” said the Doctor, as he shook his hand warmly. 


84 


CHARLES o’MALLEY, 


and prepared to leave the room. “ O’Malley, I leave you here,’’ 
said he ; “ Webber and you can talk over your arrangements.” 

Webber followed the Doctor to the door, whispered something 
in his ear, to which the other replied, “Very well, I will write ; 

but if your father sends the money, I must insist ” the rest 

was lost in protestations and professions of the most fervent kind, 
amid which the door was shut, and Mr. Webber returned to the 
room. 

Short as was the interspace from the door without to the room 
within, it was still ample enough to effect a very thorough and 
remarkable change in the whole external appearance of Mr. Frank 
Webber ; for, scarcely had the oaken pannel shut out the Doctor, 
when he appeared no longer the shy, timid, and silverj^-toned gen- 
tlemen of five minutes before ; but dashing boldly forward, he 
seized a key-bugle that lay hid beneath a sofa-cushion, and blew a 
tremendous blast. 

“ Come forth, ye demons of the lower world,” said he, drawing 
a cloth from a large table, and discovering the figures of three 
young men, coiled up beneath. “ Come forth, and fear jiot, most 
timorous freshmen, that ye are,” said he, unlocking a pantry, and 
liberating two others. “ Gentlemen, let me introduce to your 
acquaintance, Mr. O’Malley. My chum, gentlemen. Mr. O’Malley, 
this is Harry Nesbit, who has been in college since the days of old 
Perpendicular, and numbers more cautions than any man who 
ever had his name on the books. Here is my particular friend, 
Cecil Cavendish, the only man who could ever devil kidneys. 
Captain Power, Mr. O’Malley ; a dashing dragoon, as you see ; 
aid-de-camp to his excellency the Lord Lieutenant, and love- 
maker-general to Merrion-square, West. 

“ These,” said he, pointing to the late denizens of the pantry, 
“ are Jibs, whose names are neither known to the proctor nor the 
police office ; but, with due regard to their education and morals, 
we don’t despair.” 

“By no means,” said Power; “but come, let us resume our 
game.” At these words he took a folio atlas of maps from a 
small table, and displayed beneath, a pack of cards, dealt as if for 
whist. The two gentlemen to whom I was introduced by name, 
returned to their places ; the unknown two put on their boxing 
gloves, and all resumed the hilarity which Dr. Mooney’s advent 
had so suddenly interrupted. 

“Where’s Moore?” said Webber, as he once more seated 
himself at his breakfast. 

“ Making a spatch-cock, sir,” said the servant. At the same in- 
stant a little dapper, jovial looking personage appeared with the 
dish in question. “ Mr. O’Malley, Mr. Moore, the gentleman who 
by repeated remonstrances to the board has succeeded in getting 
eatable food for the inhabitants of this penitentiary, and has the 
honoured reputation of reforming the commons of college.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


85 


Any thing to Godfrey O’Malley, may I ask, sir,” said Moore. 

“ His nephew,” I replied. 

‘‘ Which of you winged the gentleman the other day for not 
passing the decanter, or something of that sort ?” 

If you mean the affair with Mr. Bodkin, it was I.” 

Glorious that, begad I thought you were one of us. I say, 
Power, it was he pinked Bodkin.” 

Ah, indeed,” said Power, not turning his head from his game, 
‘‘a pretty shot I heard — two by honours — ^and hit him fairly — 
the odd trick. Hammersly mentioned the thing to me.” 

Oh, is he in town ?” said I. 

“ No, he sailed for Portsmouth yesterday ; he is to join the 11th 
— game — I say, Webber, you’ve lost the rubber.” Double or 
quit, and a dinner at Dunleary,” said Webber; ‘‘we must show 
O’Malley — confound the Mister — something of the place.” 

“ Agreed.” 

The whist was resumed ; the boxers, now refreshed by a leg of 
the spatch-cock, returned to their gloves. Mr. Moore took up his 
violin, Mr. Webber his French horn, and I was left the only 
unemployed man in the company. 

“I say. Power, you’d better bring the drag over here for us; 
we can all go down together.” 

“ I must inform you,” said Cavendish, “ that, thanks to your 
philanthropic efforts of last night, the passage from Grafton-street 
to Stephen’s Green is impracticable.” A tremendous roar of 
laughter followed this announcement; and, though at the time the 
cause was unknown to me, I may as well mention it here, as I 
subsequently learned it from my companions. 

Among the many peculiar tastes which distinguished Mr. Fran- 
cis Webber, was an extraordinary fancy for street-begging; he 
had, over and over, won large sums upon his success in that diffi- 
cult walk ; and so perfect were his disguises, both of dress, voice, 
and maimer, that he actually, at one time, succeeded in obtaining 
charity from his very opponent in the wager. He wrote ballads 
with the greatest facility, and sung them with infinite pathos and 
humour ; and the old woman at the corner of College-green was 
certain of an audience when the severity of the night would leave 
all other minstrelsy deserted. As these feats of jonglerie usually 
terminated in a row, it was a most amusing part of the transac- 
tion to see the singer’s part taken by the mob against the college 
men, who, growing impatient to carry him off to supper some- 
where, would invariably be obliged to have a fight for the booty. 

Now it chanced that a few evenings before, Mr. Webber was 
returning with a pocket well lined with copper, from a musical 
reunion he had held at the corner of York-street, when the idea 
struck him to stop at the end of Grafton-street, where a huge 
stone grating at that time exhibited, perhaps it exhibits still, the 
descent to one of the great main sewers of tlie city. 

H 


CHARLES o‘m ALLEY, 


Sb 

The light was shining brightly from a pastry-cook’s shop, and 
showed the large bars of stone, between which the muddy water 
was rushing rapidly down, and plashing in the torrent that ran 
boisterously several feet beneath. 

To stop in the street of any crowded city is, under any circum- 
stances, an invitation to others to do likewise, which is rarely 
unaccepted ; but, when in addition to this, you stand fixedly in 
one spot, and regard with stern intensity any object near you, the 
chances are ten to one that you have several companions in your 
curiosity before a. minute expires. 

Now, Webber, who had at first stood still, without any peculiar 
thought in view, no sooner perceived that he was joined by 
others, than the idea of making something out of it immediately 
occurred to him. 

What is it, agra?” inquired an old woman, very much in his 
own style of dress, pulling at the hood of his cloak. 

“ And can’t you see for yourself, darlin’ ?” replied he sharply, 
as he knelt down, and looked most intensely at the sewer. 

Are ye long there, avick?” inquired he of an imaginary indi- 
vidual below, and then waiting as if for a reply, said, “ Two 
hours !” Blessed virgin ! he’s two hours in the drain !” 

By this time the crowd had reached entirely across the street, 
and the crushing and squeezing to get near the important spot, 
was awful. 

‘‘Where did he come from ! who is he ! how did he get there ?” 
were questions on every side, and various surmises were afloat, 
till Webber, rising from his knees, said, in a mysterious whisper 
to those nearest him, “ He’s made his escape to-night out o’ New- 
gate by the big drain, and lost his way ; he was looking for the 
Lilfey, and took the wrong turn.” 

To an Irish mob, what appeal could equal this ? a culprit, at 
any time, has his claim upon their sympathy; but let him be 
caught in the very act of cheating the authorities and evading the 
law, and his popularity knows no bounds. Webber knew this 
well, and, as the mob thickened around him, sustained an ima- 
ginary conversation that Savage Landor might have envied, im- 
parting now and then such hints concerning the runaway as 
raised their interest to the highest pitch, and fifty different versions 
were related on all sides — of the crime he was guilty — the sen- 
tence that was passed on him — and the day he was to suffer. 

“Do ye see the light, dear,” said Webber, as some ingeniously 
benevolent individual had lowered down a candle with a string ; 
“ do ye see the light ; oh ! he’s fainted, the creature.” A cry of 
horror from the crowd burst forth at these words, followed by an 
universal shout of “break open the street.” 

Pick-axes, shovels, spades, and crow-bars, seemed absolutely 
the walking accompaniments of the crowd, so suddenly did they 
appear upon the field of action, and the work of exhumation was 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


87 


begun with a vigour that speedily covered nearly half of the street 
with mud and paving stones ; parties relieved each other at the 
task, and, ere half an hour, a hole, capable of containing a mail 
coach was yawning in one of the most frequented thoroughfares 
of Dublin. Meanwhile, as no appearance of the culprit could be 
had, dreadful conjectures as to his fate began to gain ground. By 
this time the authorities had received intimation of what was 
going forward, and attempted to disperse the crowd; but Webber, 
who still continued to conduct the prosecution, called on them to 
resist the police, and save the poor creature ; and now began a 
most terrific fray, the stones forming a ready weapon, were hurled 
at the unprepared constables, who, on their side, fought manfully, 
but against superior numbers ; so that, at last, it was only by the 
aid of a military force the mob could be dispersed, and a riot, 
which had assumed a very serious character, got under. Mean- 
while, Webber had reached his chambers and changed his costume, 
and was relating over a supper-table the narrative of his philan- 
thropy to a very admiring circle of his friends. 

Such was my chum, Frank Webber, and as this was the first 
anecdote I had heard of him, I relate it here that my readers may 
be in possession of the grounds upon which my opinion of that 
celebrated character was founded, while yet our acquaintance was 
in its infancy. 


88 


CHARLES o’m ALLEY, 


CHAPTER XV. 

CAPTAIN POWER. 

Within a few weeks after my arrival in town, I had become a 
matriculated student of the university, and the possessor of cham- 
bers within its walls, in conjunction with the sage and prudent 
gentleman I have introduced to my readers in the last chapter. 
Had my intentions on entering college been of the most studious 
and regular kind, the companion into whose society I was then 
immediately thrown, would have quickly dissipated them. He 
voted morning chapels a bore, Greek lectures a humbug, ex- 
aminations a farce, and pronounced the statute book, with its 
attendant train of fines and punishment, an ‘‘unclean thing.’’ 
With all my country habits and predilections fresh upon me, that 
I was an easily won disciple to his code need not be wondered at, 
and indeed, ere many days had passed over, my thorough in- 
difference to all college rules and regulations had given me a high 
place in the esteem of Webber and his friends. As for myself, 
I was most agreeably surprised to find that what I had looked 
forward to as a very melancholy banishment, was likely to prove 
a most agreeable sojourn. Under Webber’s directions, there was 
no hour of the day that hung heavily upon our hands : we rose 
about eleven, and breakfasted; after which succeeded fencing, 
sparring, billiards, or tennis in the park : about three got on horse- 
back, and either cantered in the Phoenix or about the squares till 
visiting time ; after which made our calls, and then dressed for 
dinner, wliich we never thought of taking at commons, but had it 
from Morrison’s — we both being reported sick in the Dean’s list, 
and thereby exempt from the meagre fare of the fellow’s table. 
In the evening our occupations became still more pressing; there 
were balls, suppers, whist parties, rows at the theatre, shindies in 
the street, devilled drumsticks at Hayes’s, select oyster parties 
at the Carlingford ; in fact, every known method of remaining up 
all night, and appearing both pale and penitent the following 
morning. 

Webber had a large acquaintance in Dublin, and soon made me 
known to them all ;> among others, the officers of the — th Light 
Dragoons, in which regiment Power was a captain, were his par- 
ticular friends, and we had frequent invitations to dine at their 
mess. There it was first that military life presented itself to me, 
in its most attractive possible form, and heightened the passion 
I had already so strongly conceived for the army. Power, above 
all others, took my fancy : he was a gay, dashing-looking, hand- 


THE IRISH DRAaOON. 


89 


some fellow, of about eight-and-twenty, who had already seen 
some service, having joined while his regiment was in Portugal ; 
was in heart and soul a soldier; and had that species of pride and 
enthusiasm in all that regarded a military career that form no 
small part of the charm in the character of a young officer. 

I sat near him the second day we dined at the mess, and was 
much pleased at many slight attentions in his manner towards 
me. I called on you to-day, Mr. O’Malley,’^ said he, in com- 
pany with a friend, who is most anxious to see you.^’ 

“ Indeed,” said I, I did not hear of it.” 

‘‘We left no cards either of us, as we were determined to 
make you out on another day ; my companion has most urgent 
reasons for seeing you : — I see you are puzzled,” said he ; “ and, 
although I promised to keep his secret, I must blab : it was Sir 
George Dashwood was with me ; *he told us of your most roman- 
tic adventure in the west, and, faith, there is no doubt you saved 
the lady’s life.” 

“Was she worth the trouble of it?” said the old Major, 
whose conjugal experiences imparted a very crusty tone to the 
question. 

“I think,” said I, “I need only tell her name to convince you 
of it.” 

“ Here’s a bumper to her,” said Power, filling his glass ; “ and 
every true man will follow my example.” 

When the hip, hipping which followed the toast was over, I 
found myself enjoying no small share of the attention of the party 
as the deliverer of Lucy Dashwood. 

“ Sir George is cudgelling his brain to show his gratitude to you,” 
said Power. 

“ What a pity, for the sake of his peace of mind, that you’re not 
in the army,” said another ; “ it’s so easy to show a man a deli- 
cate regard by a quick promotion.” 

“ A devil of a pity for his own sake too,” said Power, again ; 
“ they’re going to make a lawyer of as strapping a fellow as ever 
carried a sabertasch.” 

“ A lawyer !” cried out half a dozen together, pretty much with 
the same tone and emphasis as though he had said a two-penny 
postman ; “ the devil they are.” 

“ Cut the service at once : you’ll get no promotion in it,” said 
the Colonel, “ a fellow with a black eye like you would look much 
better at the head of a squadron than a string of witnesses. Trust 
me,you’d shine more in conducting a picquet than a prosecution.” 

“ But if I can’t ?” said I. 

“ Then take my plan,” said Power, “ and make it cut you ” 

“Yours,” said two or three in breath ; “ yours ?” 

“ Ay, mine ; did you never know that I was bred to the bar ? 
Come, come, if it was only for O’Malley’s use and benefit — as we 
say in the parchments— I must tell you the story.” 

12 h2 


90 


CHARLES o’MALLEr, 


The claret was pushed briskly round, chairs drawn up to fill any 
vacant spaces, and Power began his story. 

As I am not over long-winded, donT be scared at my begin- 
ning my history somewhat far back. I began life, that most un- 
lucky of all earthly contrivances for supplying causalities in case 
any thing may befall the heir of the house — a species of domestic 
jury-mast, only lugged out in a gale of wind — a younger son. 
My brother Tom, a thick-skulled, pudding-headed dog, that had 
no taste for any thing, save his dinner, took it into his wise head 
one morning, that he would go into the army, and, although 
I had been originally destined for a soldier, no sooner was his 
choice made than all regard for my taste and inclinations was for- 
gotten ; and, as the family interest was only enough for one, it was 
decided that I should be put in what is called a ‘ learned profes- 
sion,’ and let push my fortune. ^ Take your choice, Dick,’ said 
my father, with a most benign smile, ^ take your choice, boy : will 
you be a lawyer, a parson, or a doctor ?’ 

Had he said, ‘Will you be put in the stocks, the pillory, or 
publicly whipped,’ I could not have looked more blank than at 
the question. 

“ As a decent Protestant, he should have grudged me to the 
church; as a philanthropist, he might have scrupled at making me 
a physician ; but, as he had lost deeply by law-suits, there looked 
something very like a lurking malice in sending me to the bar. 
Now so far I concurred with him, for having no gift for enduring 
either sermons or senna, I thought Pd make a bad administrator 
of either, and, as I was ever regarded in the family as rather of a 
shrewd and quick turn, with a very natural taste for roguery, I 
began to believe he was right, and that nature intended me for the 
circuit. 

“ From the hour my vocation was pronounced, it had been 
happy for the family that they could have got rid of me. A cer- 
tain ambition to rise in my profession laid hold on me, and I medi- 
tated all day and night how I was to get on. Every trick, every 
subtle invention to cheat the enemy that I could read of, I 
treasured up carefully, being fully impressed with the notion, that 
roguery meant law, and equity was only another name for odd 
and even. 

“ My days were spent haranguing special juries of housemaids 
and laundresses, cross-examining the cook, charging the under- 
butler, and passing sentence of death upon the pantry boy, who, I 
may add, was invariably hanged when the court rose. 

“ If the mutton were overdone, or the turkey burned, I drew up 
an indictment against old Margaret, and against the kitchen-maid 
as accomplice ; and the family hungered while I harangued ; and, 
in fact, into such disrepute did I bring the legal profession, by the 
score of annoyance of which I made it the vehicle, that my father 
got a kind of holy horror of law courts, judges, and crown solici 


i 


TPIE IRISH DRAGOON. 


91 


tors, and absented himself from the assizes the same year, for 
which, being a high sheritf, he paid a penalty of £ 500 . 

“ The next day I was sent off in disgrace to Dublin to begin my 
career in college, and eat the usual quartos and folios of beef and 
mutton which qualify a man for the woolsack. 

“ Years rolled over, in whicii, after an ineffectual effort to get 
through college, the only examination I ever got, being a jubilee 
for the king’s birth-day, I was at length called to the Irish bar, 
and saluted by my friends as Counsellor Power. The whole thing 
was so like a joke to me, that it kept me in hughter for three 
terms, and in fact it was the best thing could happen me, for I had 
nothing else to do. The hall of the Four Courts was a very 
pleasant lounge, plenty of agreeable fellows that never earned 
sixpence, or were likely to do so. Then the circuits were so many 
country excursions, that supplied fun of one kind or other, but no 
profit. As for me, I was what is called a good junior: I knew 
how to look after the waiter, to inspect the decanting of the wine, 
and the airing of the claret, and was always attentive to the father 
of the circuit, the crossest old villain that ever was a king’s coun- 
sel. These eminent qualities, and my being able to sing a song in 
honour of our own bar, were recommendations enough to make me 
a favourite, and I was one. 

“ Now the reputation I obtained was pleasant enough at first, 
but somehow I wondered that I never got a brief. Somehow, if 
it rained civil bills or declarations, devil a one would fall upon my 
head, and it seemed as if the only object I had in life was to 
accompany the circuit, a kind of deputy-assistant-commissary- 
general, never expected to come into action. To be sure, I was 
not alone in misfortune : there were several promising youths 
who cut great figures in Trinity, in the same predicament, the only 
difference being, that they attributed to jealousy, what I suspected 
was forgetfulness, for I don’t think a single attorney in Dublin knew 
one of us. 

Two years passed over, and then I walked the hall with a bag 
filled with newspapers, to look like briefs, and was regularly called 
by two or three criers from one court to the other. It never took: 
even when I used to seduce a country friend to visit the courts, 
and get him into an animated conversation, in a corner between 
two pillars, devil a one would believe him to be a client, and I 
was fairly nonplused. 

How is a man ever to distinguish himself in such a walk as 
this ? was my eternal question to myself every morning as I put 
on my wig. My face is as well known here as Lord Manners’ : 
every one says, ‘ How are you, Dick?’ ‘ How goes it. Power ?’ but 
except Holmes, that said one morning as he passed me, ‘Eh, 
always busy,’ no one alludes to the possibility of my having any 
thing to do. 


92 CHARLES o’mALLEY, 

‘‘ If I only could get a footing, thought I, Lord how Pd astonish 
them, as the song says, — 

’Perhaps a recruit 
Might chance to shoot 
Great General Bonaparte.’ 

So said I to myself, Pll make these halls ring for it some day or 
other, if the occasion ever present • itself. But, faith, it seemed as 
if some cunning solicitor overheard me, and told his associates, for 
they avoided me like a leprosy. The home circuit I had adopted 
for some time past, for the very palpable reason that, being near 
town, it was least expense, and it had all the advantages of any 
other for me, in getting me nothing to do. Well, one morning we 
were in Philipstown ; I was lying awake in bed, thinking how 
long it would be before Pd sum up resolution to cut the bar, where 
certainly my prospects were not the most cheering, when some one 
tapped gently at the door. 

“ ‘ Come in,’ said 1. 

“ The waiter opened gently, and held out his hand with a large 
roll of paper tied round with a piece of red tape. 

‘ Counsellor,’ savs he, ‘ handsel.’ 

i( i What do you mean ?’ said I, jumping out of bed, ‘ what is 
it, you villain ?’ 

‘‘‘A brief.’ 

‘‘‘A brief; so I see, but it’s for Counsellor Kinshella, below 
stairs.’ That was the first name written on it. 

‘ Bethershin,’ said he, ‘ Mr. McGrath bid me give it to you 
carefully.’ 

“ By this time I had opened the envelope, and read my own 
name at full length as junior counsel in the important case of 
Monaghan v. M^Shane, to be tried in the record court, at Ballina- 
sloe. ‘ That will do,’ said I, flinging it on the bed with a careless 
air, as if it were a very every-day matter with me. 

“ ‘ But Counsellor, darlin, give us a thrifle to dhrink ^^our health, 
with your first cause, and the Lord send you plenty of them.’ 

“ ^ My first,’ said I, with a smile of most ineffable compassion 
at his simplicity, ^ Pm worn out with them : do you know, Peter, 
I was thinking seriously of leaving the bar, when you came into 
the room? Upon my conscience, it’s in earnest 1 am.’ 

“ Peter believed me, I think, for I saw him give a very peculiar 
look as he pocketed his half-crown and left the room. 

The door was scarcely closed when I gave way to the free 
transport of my ecstasy ; there it lay at last, the long-looked-for, 
long-wished-for object of all my happiness, and though I well 
knew that a junior counsel has about as much to do in the con- 
ducting of a case as a rusty handspike has in a naval engagement, 
yet I suffered not such thoughts to mar the current of my happi- 
ness. There was my name in conjunction with the two mighty 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


93 


leaders on the circuit, and though they each pocketed a hundred, I 
doubt very much if they received their briefs with one half the 
satisfaction. My joy at length a little subdued, I opened the roll 
of paper, and began carefully to peruse about fifty pages of narrative 
regarding a water-course that once had turned a mill ; but, for some 
reasons doubtless known to itself or its friends, would do so no 
longer, and thus set two respectable neighbours at loggerheads, and 
involved them in a record that had now been heard three several 
times. 

“ Quite forgetting the subordinate part I was destined to fill, I 
opened the case in a most flowery oration, in which I descanted 
upon the benefits accruing to mankind from water-communication 
since the days of Noah ; remarked upon the antiquity of mills, 
and especially of millefs, and consumed half an hour in a preamble 
of generalities that I hoped would make a very considerable impres- 
sion upon the court. Just at the critical moment when I was about 
to enter more particularly into the case, three or four of the great 
unbriefed came rattling into my room, and broke in upon the 
oration. 

‘‘ ‘ I say. Power,’ said one ; ‘ come and have an hour’s skating 
on the canal ; the courts are filled, and we shan’t be missed.’ 

‘ Skate, my dear friend,’ said I, in a most dolorous tone, ^ out 
of the question ; see I am chained to a devilish knotty case with 
Kinshella and Mills.’ 

‘ Confound your humbugging,’ said another, ‘ that may do 
very well in Dublin for the attorneys, but not with us.’ 

‘ I don’t well understand you,’ I replied ; ‘ there is the brief. 
Henesy expects me to report upon it this evening, and I am so 
hurried.’ 

Here a very chorus of laughing broke forth, in which, after 
several vain efforts to resist, I was forced to join, and kept it up 
with the others. 

When oui mirth was over, my friends scrutinized the red-tape- 
tied packet and pronounced it a real brief, with a degree of sur- 
prise that certainly augured little for their familiarity with such 
objects of natural history. 

When they had left the room, 1 leisurely examined the all- 
important document, spreading it out before me upon the table, 
and surveying it as a newly -anointed sovereign might be supposed 
to contemplate a map of his dominions. 

‘ At last,’ said I to myself, ‘ at last, and here is the footstep 
to the woolsack.’ For more than an hour I sat motionless, my 
eyes fixed upon the outspread paper, lost in a very maze of re very. 
The ambition which disappointments had crushed and delay 
had chilled, came suddenly back, and all my day-dreams of legal 
success, my cherished aspirations after silk gowns, and patents 
of precedence, rushed once more upon me, and I resolved to 
do or die. Alas! a very little reflection showed me that the 


94 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


latter was perfectly practicable ; but that, as a junior counsel, 
five minutes of very commonplace recitation was all my pro- 
vince, and with the main business of the day I had about as 
much to do as the call-boy of a play-house has with the success of 
a tragedy. 

‘‘ ‘ My lord, this is an action brought by Timothy Higgins,’ &c. 
and down I go, no more to be remembered and thought of, than 
if I had never existed. How different it would be were I the 
leader! Zounds, how I would worry the witnesses, browbeat 
the evidence, cajole the jury, and soften the judges ! If the Lord 
were, in his mercy, to remove old Mills and Kinshella, before 
Tuesday, who knows but my fortune might be made? This 
supposition once started, set me speculating upon all the possible 
chances that might cut off two king’s counsel in three days, and 
left me fairly convinced that my own elevation was certain, were 
they only removed from my path. 

‘‘ For two whole days, the thought never left my mind ; and, 
on the evening of the second day, I sat moodily over my pint of 
port, in the Clonbrock Arms, with my friend, Timothy Casey, 
Captain in the North Cork militia, for my companion. 

“ ‘ Fred,’ said Tim, ‘ take off your wine, man. When does this 
confounded trial come on ?’ 

‘ To-morrow,’ said I, with a deep groan. 

‘ Well, well, and if it does, what matter?’ he said ; ‘you’ll do 
well enough, never be afraid.’ 

“ ‘ Alas !’ said I, ‘ you don’t understand the cause of my de- 
pression.’ I here entered upon an account of my sorrows, which 
lasted for above an hour, and only concluded, just as a tremendous 
noise in the street without announced an arrival. For several 
minutes, such was the excitement in the house, such running 
hither and thither — such confusion, and such hubbub, that we 
could not make out who had arrived. 

“ At last a door opened quite near us, and we saw the waiter 
assisting a very portly-looking gentleman off with his great-coat, 
assuring him the while, that if he would only walk into the coffee- 
room for ten minutes, the fire in his apartment should be got ready. 
The stranger accordingly entered and seated himself at the fire- 
place, having never noticed that Casey and myself — the only per- 
sons there — were in the room. 

“ ‘ I say, Phil, who is he ?’ inquired Casey of the waiter. 

“ ‘Counsellor Mills, Captain,’ said the waiter, and left the room. 

“ ‘ That’s your friend,’ said Casey. 

“ ‘ I see,’ said I ; ‘ and I wish, with all my heart, he was at home 
with his pretty wife, in Leeson-street.’ 

“ ‘ Is she good-looking ?’ inquired Tim. 

“ ‘ Devil a better,’ said I, ‘ and he’s as jealous as Old Nick.’ 

“ ‘ Hem,’ said Tim, ‘ mind your cue, and I’ll give him a start.’ 
Here he suddenly changed his whispering tone for one in a louder 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


95 


key, and resumed ; < I say, Power, it will make some work for 
you lawyers. But who can she be ? that’s the question.’ Here 
he took a much crumpled letter from his pocket, and pretended to 
read.— ^ A great sensation was created in the neighbourhood of 
Merrion-square, yesterday, by the sudden disappearance from her 

house of the handsome Mrs. .’ Confound it — what’s the 

name ? — what a hand he writes ? Hill or Miles, or something like 
that — ‘ the lady of an eminent barrister, now on circuit. The gay 
Lothario is, they say, the Hon. George .’ I was so thunder- 

struck at the rashness of the stroke, I could say nothing ; while 
the old gentleman started as if he had sat down on a pin. Casey, 
meanwhile, went on 

‘ Hell and fury,’ said the king’s counsel, rushing over, ‘ what 
is it you’re saying ?’ 

^ You appear warm, old gentleman,’ said Casey, putting up the 
letter, and rising from the table. 

‘ Show me that letter : show me that infernal letter, sir, this 
instant!” 

‘‘‘Show you my letter,’ said Casey; ‘ cool that, anyhow ; you 
are certainly a good one.’ 

“ ‘ Do you know me, sir ? answer me that’ — said the lawyer, 
bursting with passion. 

“ ‘ Not at present,’ said Tim, quietly ; ‘ but I hope to do so in 
the morning, in explanation of your language and conduct.’ A 
tremendous ringing of the bell here summoned the waiter to the 
room. 

“‘Who is that ?’ inquired the lawyer. The epithet he 

judged it safe to leave unsaid, as he pointed to Casey. 

“ ‘ Captain Casey, sir ; the commanding officer here.’ 

“ ‘ Just so,’ said Casey, ‘ and very much at your service, any 
hour after five in the morning.’ 

“ ‘ Then you refuse, sir, to explain the paragraph I have just 
heard you read.’ 

“ ‘ Well done, old gentleman ; so you have been listening to a 
private conversation I held with my friend here. In that case we 
had better retire to our room ;’ so saying he ordered the waiter to 
send a fresh bottle and glasses to No. 14, and, taking my arm, 
very politely wished Mr. Mills a good night, and left the coffee- 
room. 

“ Before we had reached the top of the stairs, the house was 
once more in commotion. The new arrival had ordered out fresh 
horses, and was hurrying every one in his impatience to getaway. 
In ten minutes the chaise rolled off from the door ; and Casey, 
putting his head out of the window, wished him a pleasant journey : 
while turning to me, he said : 

“‘There’s one of them out of the way for you, if we are even 
obliged to fight the other.’ 

“The port was soon despatched, and with it went all the scruples 


96 


CHARLES o’mALLEF, 


of conscience I had at first felt for the cruel ruse we liad just 
practised. Scarcely was the other bottle called for, when we heard 
the landlord calling out, in a stentorian voice : 

“ ‘ Two horses, for Gorpn-bridge, to meet Counsellor Kinshella.’ 

“ ‘ That’s the other fellow,’ said Casey. 

‘‘ ‘ It is,’ said I. 

‘‘ ‘ Then we must be stirring,’ said he. ‘ Waiter, a chaise and 
pair, in five minutes — d’ye hear ? Power, my boy, I don’t want 
you ; stay here, and study your brief. It’s little trouble Counsellor 
Kinshella will give you in the morning.’ 

All he would tell me of his plans was, that he didn’t mean any 
serious bodily harm to the counsellor, but that certainly he was 
not likely to be heard of for twenty -four hours. 

“ ‘ Meanwhile, Power, go in and win, my boy ;’ said he, ‘ such 
another walk over you may never occur.’ 

“ I must not make my story longer. The next morning the great 
record of Monaghan v, M^Shane was called on, and, as the senior 
counsel were not present, the attorney wished a postponement. 
I, however, was firm ; told the court I was quite prepared, and, 
with such an air of assurance, that I actually puzzled the attorney. 
The case was accordingly opened by me, in a very brilliant speech, 
and the witnesses called ; but, such was my unlucky ignorance 
of the whole matter, that I actually broke down the testimony of 
our own, and fought like a Trojan for the credit and character of 
the perjurers against us ! The judge rubbed his eyes — the jury 
looked amazed — and the whole bar laughed outright. However, 
on I went, blundering, floundering, and foundering at every step, 
and, at half-past four, amid the greatest and most uproarious mirth 
of the whole court, heard the jury deliver a verdict against us, 
just as old Kinshella rushed into the court covered with mud and 
splattered -with clfvy. He had been sent for twenty miles to make 
a will for Mr. Daly of Daly’s-mount, who was supposed to be at 
the point of death, but who, on his arrival, threatened to shoot 
him for causing an alarm -to his family by such an imputation. 

“ The rest is soon told. They moved for a new trial, and I 
moved out of the profession. I cut the bar, for it cut me : I joined 
the gallant 14th as a volunteer, and here I am without a single 
regret, I must confess, that I didn’t succeed in the great record of 
Monaghan v. M^Shane.” 

Once more the claret went briskly round, and while we can- 
vassed Power’s story, many an anecdote of military life was told, 
which every instant extended the charm of that career I longed for. 

Another cooper. Major,” said Power. 

« With all my heart,” said the rosy little officer, as he touched 
the bell behind him ; “ and now let’s have a song.” 

Yes, Power,” said three or four together, “ let us have ^the 
Irish Dragoon,’ if it’s only to convert your friend, O’Malley 
there.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


97 


Here goes, then,’’ said Dicl^, taking off a bumper as he began 
the following chant to the air of “ Love is the soul of a gay Irish- 
man — 

‘‘the IRISH DRAGOON.” 

“ Oh love is the soul of an Irish Dragoon 
In battle, in bivouac, or in saloon — 

From the tip of his spur to his bright sabertasche. 

With his soldierly gait and his bearing so high. 

His gay laughing look, and his light speaking eye. 

He frowns at his rival, he ogles his wench. 

He springs in his saddle and chasses the French — 

With his jingling spur and his bright sabertasche. 

“ His spirits are high, and he little knows care. 

Whether sipping his claret, or charging a square — 

With his jingling spur and his bright sabertasche. 

As ready to sing, or to skirmish he’s found. 

To take off his wine, or to take up his ground ; 

When the bugle may call him, how little he fears. 

To charge forth in column, and beat the Mounseers — 

With his jingling spur and his bright sabertasche. 

“ When the battle is over, he gaily rides back 
To cheer every soul in the night bivouac — 

With his jingling spur and his bright sabertasche. 

Oh ! there you may see him in full glory crown’d, 

As he sits with his friends on the hardly won ground. 

And hear with what feeling the toast he will give, 

As he drinks to the land where all Irishmen live— 

With his jingling spur and his bright sabertasche.” 

It was late when we broke up ; but among all the recollections 
of that pleasant evening, none clung to me so forcibly, none sunk 
so deeply in my heart, as the gay and careless tone of Power’s 
manly voice ; and as I fell asleep towards morning, the words of 
the Irish Dragoon were floating through my mind, and followed 
me in my dreams. 


13 


1 


98 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


^ CHAPTER XVI. 

THE VICE-PROVOST. 

I HAD now been for some weeks a resident within the walls 
of the University, and yet had never presented my letter of in- 
troduction to Dr. Barret. Somehow, my thoughts and occu- 
pations had left me little leisure to reflect upon my college course, 
and I had not felt the necessity suggested by my friend Sir Harry 
of having a supporter in the very learned and gifted individual to 
whom I was accredited. How long I might have continued in 
this state of indifierence, it is hard to say, when chance brought 
about my acquaintance with the Doctor. 

Were I not inditing a true history in this narrative of my life, 
to the events and characters of which so many are living wit- 
nesses, I should certainly fear to attempt any thing like a descrip- 
tion of this very remarkable man, so liable would any sketch, 
however faint and imperfect, be, to the accusation of caricature, 
when all was so singular and so eccentric. 

Dr. Barret was, at the time I speak of, about sixty years of 
age, scarcely five feet in height, and even that diminutive stature 
lessened by a stoop. His face was thin, pointed, and russet 
coloured; his nose so aquiline as nearly to meet his projecting 
chin, and his small gray eyes, red and bleary, peered beneath his 
well worn cap, with a glance of mingled fear and suspicion. His 
dress was a suit of the rustiest black, threadbare, and patched 
in several places, while a pair of large brown leather slippers, 
far too big for his feet, imparted a sliding motion to his walk, that 
added an air of indescribable meanness to his appearance ; a 
gown that had been worn for twenty years, bi owned and coated 
with the learned dust of the Fagel, covered his rusty habiliments, 
and completed the equipments of a figure that it was somewhat 
difficult for the young student to recognise as the Vice-Provost 
of the University. Such was he in externals. Within, a greater 
or more profound scholar never graced the walls of the college ; a 
distinguished Grecian, learned in all the refinements of a hundred 
dialects ; a deep Orientalist, cunning in all the varieties of Eastern 
languages, and able to reason with a Moonshee, or chat with 
a Persian ambassador. With a mind that never ceased acquiring, 
he possessed a memory ridiculous for its retentiveness even of 
trifles; no character in history, no event in chronology, was 
unknown to him, and he was referred to by his contemporaries for 
information in doubtful and disputed cases, as men consult a 
lexicon or a dictionary. With an intellect thus stored with deep 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


99 


and far-sought knowledge, in the affairs of the world he was 
a child. Without the walls of the college, for above forty years, 
he had not ventured half as many times, and knew absolutely 
nothing of the busy active world that fussed and fumed so near 
him ; his farthest excursion was to the Bank of Ireland, to which 
he made occasional visits to fund the ample income of his office, 
and add to the wealth which already had acquired for him a well 
merited repute of being the richest man in college. 

His little intercourse with the world had left him, in all his 
habits and manners, in every respect exactly as when he entered 
college, nearly half a century before; and, as he had literally 
risen from the ranks in the university, all the peculiarities of voice, 
accent, and pronunciation which distinguished him as a youth, 
adhered to him in old age. This was singular enough, and 
formed a very ludicrous contrast with the learned and deep-read 
tone of his conversation ; but another peculiarity still more strik- 
ing belonged to him. When he became a fellow, he was obliged 
by the rules of the college, to take holy orders, as a sine qua non 
to his holding his fellowship ; this he did, as he would have 
assumed a red hood or blue one, as bachelor of laws, or doctor of 
medicine, and thought no more of it ; but, frequently, in his mo 
ments of passionate excitement, the venerable character with 
which he was invested was quite forgotten, and he would uttei 
some sudden and terrific oath, more productive of mirth to his 
auditors than was seemly, and for which, once spoken, the poor 
Doctor felt the greatest shame and contrition. These oaths were 
no less singular than forcible, and many a trick was practised, 
and many a plan devised, that the learned Vice-Provost might be 
entrapped into his favourite exclamation of May the devil admire 
me,” which no place or presence could restrain. 

My servant, Mickey, who had not been long in making himself 
acquainted with all the originals about him, was the cause of my 
first meeting the Doctor, before whom I received a summons to 
appear, on the very serious charge of treating with disrespect the 
heads of the college. 

The circumstances were simply these : — Mike had, among the 
other gossip of the place, heard frequent tales of the immense 
wealth and great parsimony of the Doctor ; of his anxiety to 
amass money on all occasions, and the avidity with which even 
the smallest tride was added to his gains. He accordingly re- 
solved to amuse himself at the expense of this^Irait, and proceeded 
thus : — boring a hole in a halfpenny,- he attached a long string 
to it, and, having dropped it on the Doctor's step, stationed him- 
self at the opposite side of the court, concealed from view by the 
angle of the common wall. He waited patiently for the chapel 
bell, at the first toll of which the door opened, and the Doctor 
issued forth. Scarcely was his foot upon the step, when he saw 
the piece of money, and as quickly stooped to seize it ; but just as 


100 


CHARLES 0 MALLET, 


his finger had nearly touched it, it evaded his grasp, and slowly 
retreated. He tried again, but with the like success. At last, 
thinking he miscalculated the distance, he knelt leisurely down, 
and put forth his hand ; but, lo ! it again escaped him ; on which, 
slowly rising from his posture, he shambled on towards the chapel, 
where, meeting the senior lecturer at the door, he cri^d out, “ H — 
to my soul. Wall, but I saw the halfpenny walk away.’’ 

For the sake of the grave character whom he addressed, I need 
not recount how such a speech was received ; suffice it to say, 
that Mike had been seen by a college porter, who reported him as 
my servant. 

I was in the very act of relating the anecdote to a large party 
at breakfast in my rooms, when a summons arrived, requiring my 
immediate attendance at the Board, then sitting in solemn conclave 
at the Examination-hall. 

I accordingly assumed my academic costume as speedily as 
possible, and, escorted by that most august functionary, Mr. 
McAlister, presented myself before the seniors. 

The members of the Board, with the Provost at their head, 
were seated at a long oak table, covered with books, papers, &c. ; 
and from the silence they maintained, as I walked up the hall, 
I augured that a very solemn scene was before me. 

‘‘ Mr. O’Malley,” said the Dean, reading my name from a paper 
he held in his hand, ‘‘ you have been summoned here at the desire 
of the Vice-Provost, whose questions you will reply to.” 

I bowed ; a silence of a few minutes followed, when, at length, 
the learned Doctor, hitching up his nether gannents with both 
hands, put his old and bleary eyes close to my face, while he 
croaked out with an accent that no hackney coachman could have 
exceeded in vulgarity, 

“ Eh, O’Malley ; you’re quartus, I believe ; an’t you ?” 

“ I believe not. I think I am the only person of that name now 
on the books.” 

‘‘That’s thrue; but there was three O’Malleys before you. 
Godfrey O’Malley, that constered calve Neroni to Nero the Cal- 
vinist — ha ! ha ! ha ! — was cautioned in 1788 .” 

“ My uncle, I believe, sir.” 

“ More than likely, from what I hear of you — ex uno, &c. I 
see your name every day on the punishment roll. Late hours, 
never at chapel, seldom at morning lecture. Here ye are, sixteen 
shillings, wearing a red coat.” 

“ Never knew any harm in that. Doctor.” 

“ Ay, but d’ye see me now ; ‘ grave raiment,’ says the statute. 
And then, ye keep numerous beasts of prey, dangerous in their 
habits, and unseemly to behold.” 

“A bull terrier, sir, and two game-cocks, are, I assure you, the 
only animals in my household.” 

“ Well, I’ll fine you for it.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


101 


“ I believe, Doctor,” said the Dean, interrupting, in an under 
tone, that you cannot impose a penalty in this matter.” 

‘‘Ay, but I can. Singing birds, says the statute, are forbidden 
within the walls.” 

“And then, ye dazzled my eyes at commons, with a bit of 
looking-glass, on Friday. I saw you. May the devil — ahem — as 
I was saying. That’s casting reflections on the heads of the 
college ; and your servant it was, Michaelis Liber ^ Mickey Free 
— ms^y the flames of — ahem — an insolent varlet, called me a 
sweep.” 

“ You, Doctor ; impossible !” said I, with pretended horror. 

“Ay, but d’ye see me now ; it’s thrue ; for I looked about me 
at the time, and there wasn’t another sweep in the place but 
myself. Hell to — I mean — God forgive me for swearing; but I’ll 
fine you a pound for this.” 

As I saw the Doctor was getting on at such a pace, I resolved, 
notwithstanding the august presence of the Board, to try the 
efiicacy of Sir Harry’s letter of introduction, which I had taken 
in my pocket, in the event of its being wanted. 

“ I beg your pardon, sir, if the time be an unsuitable one ; but 
may I take the opportunity of presenting this letter to you?” 

“ Ha ! I know the hand ; Boyle’s. Boyle secundus. Hem, 
ha, ay. ‘My young friend; and assist him by your advice/ To 
be sure ! Oh ! of course. Eh ! tell me, young man, did Boyle say 
nothing to you about the copy of Erasmus, bound in vellum, that 
I sold him in Trinity term, 1782.” 

“ I rather think not, sir,” said I, doubtfully. 

“ Well, then, he might. He owes me two-and-foui'pence of the 
balance.” 

“ Oh ! I beg pardon, sir ; I now remember b^ desired me to 
repay you that sum ; but he had j ust sealed the letter v'^hen he 
recollected it.” 

“ Better late than never,” said the Doctor, smiling graciously. 
“Where’s the money ? Ay; half-a-crown. I haven’t twopence ; 
never mind. Go away, young man ; the case is dismissed. V °Me- 
menter miror quare hue venisti. You’re more fit for any thing 
than a college life. Keep good hours ; mind the terms, and dis- 
miss Michaelis Liber, Ha, ha, ha ! May the devil— hem, that 

is, do ” so saying, the little Doctor’s hand pushed me from the 

hall, his mind evidently relieved of all the griefs from which he 
had been suffering, by the recovery of his long-lost two-and-fom*- 
pence. 

Such was my first and last interview with the Vice-Provost, 
and it made an impression upon me that all the intervening years 
have neither dimmed nor erased. 

I2 


102 


CHARLES o’mALLET, 


CHAPTER XVII. 

TRIJfITY COLLEGE A LECTURE. 

I HAD not been many weeks a resident of Old Trinity, ere 
the flattering reputation my chum, Mr. Francis Webber, had 
acquired, extended also to myself; and, by universal consent, 
we were acknowledged the most riotous, ill-conducted, and dis- 
orderly men on the books of the University. Were the lamps of 
the squares extinguished and the College left in total darkness, we 
were summoned before the Dean ; was the Vice-Provost serenaded 
with a chorus of trombones and French horns, to our taste in 
music was the attention ascribed ; did a sudden alarm of fire dis- 
turb the congregation at morning chapel, Messrs. Webber and 
O’Malley were brought before the Board ; and I must do them the 
justice to say, that the most trifling circumstantial evidence was 
ever sufficient to bring a conviction. Reading men avoided the 
building where we resided as they would have done the plague. 
Our doors, like those of a certain classic precinct commemorated 
by a Latin writer, lay open night and day; while moustached 
dragoons, knowingly dressed four-in-hand men, fox-hunters in 
pink issuing forth to the Rubber, or returning splashed from a run 
with the Kildare hounds, were everlastingly seen passing and re- 
passing. Within, the noise and confusion resembled rather the 
mess-room of a regiment towards eleven at night, than the cham- 
bers of a College student ; while, with the double object of affecting 
to be in ill-health, and to avoid the reflections that daylight occa- 
sionally inspires, the shutters were never opened, but lamps and 
candles kept always burning. Such was No. 2, Old Square, in 
the goodly days I write of. All the terrors of fines and punish- 
ments fell scatheless on the head of my worthy chum : in fact, 
like a well-known political character, whose pleasure and amuse- 
ment it has been for some years past to drive through acts of par- 
liament, and deride the powers of the law, so did Mr. Webber 
tread his way, serpenting through the statute book, ever grazing, 
but rarely trespassing upon some forbidden ground, which might 
involve the great punishment of expulsion. So expert, too, had 
he become in his special pleadings, so dexterous in the law of the 
University, that it was no easy matter to bring crime home to 
him ; and even when this was done, his pleas in mitigation rarely 
failed of success. 

There was a sweetness of demeanour, a mild, subdued tone 
about him, that constantly puzzled the worthy heads of the Col- 
lege, how the accusations ever brought against him could be found- 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


103 


ed on truth ; that the pale, delicate-looking student, whose harsh, 
hacking cough terrified the hearers, could be the boisterous per- 
former upon a key bugle, or the terrific assailant of watchmen, 
was something too absurd for belief ; and when Mr. Webber, 
with his hand upon his heart, and in his most dulcet accents, 
assured them that the hours he was not engaged in reading for the 
medal, were passed in the soothing society of a few select and 
intimate friends of literary tastes and refined minds, who, know- 
ing the delicacy of his health — here he would cough — were kind 
enough to sit with him for an hour or so in the evening, the delu- 
sion was perfect, and the story of the Dean’s riotous habits hav- 
ing got abroad, the charge was usually suppressed. 

Like most idle men, Webber never had a moment to spare. 
Except read, there was nothing he did not do — training a hack 
for a race in the Phoenix — arranging a rowing match — ^getting up 
a mock duel between two white-feather acquaintances — were his 
almost daily avocations ; besides that, he was at the head of many 
organized societies, instituted for various benevolent purposes. 
One was called ‘‘The Association for discountenancing Watch- 
men,” another, “ The Board of Works,” whose object was princi- 
pally devoted to the embellishment of the University, in which, 
to do them justice, their labours were unceasing, and what with 
the assistance of some black paint, a ladder, and a few pound of 
gunpowder, they certainly contrived to effect many important 
changes. Upon an examination morning, some hundred luckless 
‘jibs’ might be seen perambulating the courts, in the vain effort 
to discover their tutor’s chambers, the names having undergone an 
alteration that left all trace of their original proprietors unattain- 
able. Doctor Francis Mooney having become Doctor Full Moon 
— Doctor Hare being, by the change of two letters, Doctor Ape — 
Romney Robinson, Romulus and Remus, &c. While, upon occa- 
sions like these, there could be but little doubt of Master Frank’& 
intentions, upon many others, so subtle were his inventions, so 
well-contrived his plots, it became a matter of considerable diffi- 
culty to say whether the mishap which befell some luckless acquaint- 
ance were the result of design or mere accident ; and not unfre- 
quently well-disposed individuals were found condoling with 
“ poor Frank,” upon his ignorance of some College rule or eti- 
quette, his breach of which had been long and deliberately planned. 
Of this latter description was a circumstance which occurred 
about this time, and which some who may throw an eye over 
these pages will perhaps remember. 

The Dean having heard (and indeed the preparations were not 
intended to secure secrecy) that Webber destined to entertain a 
party of his friends at dinner on a certain day, sent a most peremp- 
tory order for his appearance at commons, his name being erased 
from the sick list, and a pretty strong hint conveyed to him, that 
any evasion upon his part would be certainly followed by an in^ 


104 


CHARLES o’mALLET, 


quiry into the real reasons for his absence. What was to be done ? 
That was the very day he had destined for his dinner. To be 
sure the majority of his guests were College men, who would 
understand the difficulty at once ; but still there were some others, 
officers, of the 14th, with whom he was constantly dining, and 
whom he could not so easily put off. The affair was difficult, but 
still, Webber was the man for a difficulty ; in fact, he rather liked 
one. A very brief consideration accordingly sufficed, and he sat 
down and wrote to his friends at the Royal Barracks, thus — 

‘‘ Dear Power — I have a better plan for Tuesday than that I 
had proposed. Lunch here at three — (we’ll call it dinner) — in the 
hall with the great guns : I can’t say much for the grub, hut the 
company — glorious ! After that we’ll start for Lucan in the drag 
— take our coffee, strawberries, &c. and return to No. 2, for supper, 
at ten. Advertise your fellows of this change, and believe me 

Most unchangeably yours, 

“Saturday.” FrANK WeBBER. 

Accordingly, as three o’clock struck, six dashing-looking light 
dragoons were seen slowly sauntering up the middle of the dining- 
hall, escorted by Webber, who, in full academic costume, was 
leisurely ciceroning his friends, and expiating upon the excellencies 
of the very remarkable portraits which grace the walls. 

The porters looked on with some surprise at the singular hour 
selected for sight-seeing, but what was their astonishment to find 
that the party having arrived at the end of the hall, instead of 
turning back again, very composedly unbuckled their belts, and 
having disposed of their sabres in a corner, took their places at 
the Fellow’s tab\e, and sat down amid the collective wisdom of 
Greek Lecturers and Regius Professors, as though they had been 
mere mortals like themselves. 

Scarcely was the lo^g Latin grace concluded, when Webber, 
leaning forward, enjoined his friends, in a very audible whisper, 
that if they intended to dina^ no time was to be lost. 

“We have but little ceremony here, gentlemen, and all we ask 
is a fair start,” said he, as he drew over the soup, and proceeded 
to help himself. 

The advice was not thrown away, for each man, with an alac- 
rity a campaign usually teaches, made himself master of some 
neighbouring dish— a very quick interchange of good things 
speedily following the appropriation. It was in vain that the Senior 
Lecturer looked aghast — that the Professor of Astronomy frowned j 
the whole table, indeed, were thunderstruck — even to the poor 
Vice-Provost himself, who, albeit given to the comforts of the table, 
could not lift a morsel to his mouth, but muttered between his 
teeth — “ May the devil admire me, but they’re dragoons.” The 
first shock of surprise over, the porters proceeded to inform them 
that except Fellows of the University or Fellow-commoners, none 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


105 


were admitted to the table. Webber, however, assured them that 
it was a mistake, there being nothing in the statute to exclude the 
14th Light Dragoons, as he was prepared to prove. Meanwhile 
dinner proceeded; Power and his party performing with great 
self-satisfaction upon the sirloins and saddles about them, regretting 
only from time to time that there was a most unaccountable ab- 
sence of wine, and suggested the propriety of napkins whenever 
they should dine there again. Whatever chagrin these unexpected 
guests caused among their entertainers of the upper table, in the 
lower part of the hall the laughter was loud and unceasing, and 
long before the hour concluded, the Fellows took their departure, 
leaving to Master Frank Webber the task of doing the honours 
alone and unassisted. When summoned before the Board for the 
offence on the following morning, Webber excused himself by 
throwing the blame upon his friends, with whom, he said, nothing 
short of a personal quarrel — a thing for a reading man not to be 
thought of — could have prevented intruding in the manner related. 
Nothing less than his tact could have saved him on this occasion, 
and at last he carried the day ; while, by an act of the board, the 
14th Light Dragoons were pronounced the' most jnsolent corps 
in the service. 

An adventure of his, however, got wind about this time, and 
served to enlighten many persons as to his real character, who had 
hitherto been most lenient in their expressions about him. Our 
worthy tutor, with a zeal for our welfare far more praiseworthy 
than successful, was in the habit of summoning to his chambers, 
on certain mornings of the week, his various pupils, whom he 
lectured in the books for the approaching examinations. Now, as 
these sceances were held at six o’clock in the winter as well as 
summer, in a cold, fireless chamber — the lecturer lying snug amid 
his blankets, while we stood shivering around the walls — the 
ardour of learning must indeed have proved strong that prompted 
a regular attendance. As to Frank, he would have as soon thought 
of attending chapel as of presenting himself on such an occasion. 
Not so with me. I had not yet grown hackneyed enough to fly in 
the face of authority, and I frequently left the whist table, or broke 
off in a song, to hurry over to the Doctor’s chambers and spout 
Homer and Hesiod. I suffered on in patience, till at last the bore 
became so insupportable that I told my sorrows to my friend, who 
listened to me out, and promised me succour. 

It so chanced that upon some evening in each week Dr. Mooney 
was in the habit of visiting some friends who resided a short dis- 
tance from town, and spending the night at their house. He, of 
course, did not lecture the following morning — a paper placard, 
announcing no lecture, being affixed to the door on such occasions. 
Frank waited patiently till he perceived the Doctor affixing this 
announcement upon the door one evening ; and no sooner had he 
left College, than he withdrew the paper and departed. 

14 


106 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


On the next morning he rose early, and, concealing himself oh 
the staircase, waited the arrival of the venerable damsel who acted 
as servant to the Doctor. No sooner had she opened the door and 
groped her way into the sitting-room, than Frank crept forward, 
and, stealing gently into the bed-room, sprung into the bed, and 
wrapt himself up in the blankets. The great hell boomed forth 
at six o’clock, and soon after the sound of feet were heard upon 
the stairs — one by one they came along — and gradually the room 
was filled with cold and shivering wretches, more than half asleep, 
and trying to arouse themselves into an approach to attention. 

Who’s there ?” said Frank, mimicking the Doctor’s voice, as 
he yawned three or four times in succession, and turned in the 
bed. 

“ Collisson, O’Malley, Nesbitt,” &c. said a number of voices, 
anxious to have all the merit such a penance could confer. 

Where’s Webber ?” 

Absent, sir,” chorussed the whole party. 

‘‘ Sorry for it,” said the mock Doctor ; “ Webber is a man of 
first-rate capacity, and were he only to apply, I am not certain to 
what eminence his abilities might raise him. Come, Collisson — 
any three angles of a triangle are equal to — are equal to — what 
are they equal to ?” Here he yawned as though he would dislo- 
cate his jaw. 

Any three angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles,” 
said Collisson, in the usual sing-song tone of a freshman. 

As he proceeded to prove the proposition, his monotonous tone 
seemed to have lulled the Doctor into a doze ; for in a few minutes 
a deep, long-drawn snore announced from the closed curtains that 
he listened no longer. After a little time, hoAvever, a short snort 
from the sleeper awoke him suddenly, and he called out. 

Go on ; I’m waiting. — Do you think I can arouse at this hour 
of the morning for nothing but to listen to your bungling ? Can 
no one give me a free translation of the passage ?” 

This digression from mathematics to classics did not surprise the 
hearers, though it somewhat confused them, -no one being pre- 
cisely aware what the line in question might be. 

Try it, Nesbit — you, O’Malley — silent all — really this is too 
bad an indistinct muttering here from the crowd was followed 
by an announcement from the Doctor, that “ the speaker was an 
ass, and his head a turnip ! — Not one of you capable of translating 
a chorus from Euripides — ‘ Ou, ou, papai, papai, &c.’ which, after 
all, means no more than — ‘ Oh, whillelu, murder, why did you 
die,’ &c. — What are you laughing at, gentlemen ? — May I ask, 
does it become a set of ignorant ill-informed savages — yes, savages, 
I repeat the word — to behave in this manner. Webber is the 
only man I have with common intellect — the only man among 
you capable of distinguishing himself But as for you — I’ll bring 
you before the Board — I’ll write to your friends — I’ll stop your 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


107 


college indulgences — Pll confine you to the wall — Pll be damned, 
eh ’’ 

This lapse confused him ; he stammered, stuttered, endeavoured 
to recover himself, but by this time we had approached the bed, 
just at the moment when Master Frank, well knowing what he 
might expect if detected, had bolted from the blankets and rushed 
from the room. In an instant we were in pursuit ; but he regained 
his chambers, and double-locked the door before we could over- 
take him, leaving us to ponder over the insolent tirade we had so 
patiently submitted to. 

That morning, the affair got wind all over college. As for us, 
we were scarcely so much laughed at as the* Doctor ; the world 
wisely remembering, if such were the nature of our morning’s 
orisons, we might nearly as profitably have remained snug in our 
quarters. 

Such was our life in old Trinity ; and strange enough it is that 
one should feel tempted to the confession ; hut I really must ac- 
knowledge these were, after all, happy times ; and I look back 
upon them with mingled pleasure and sadness. The noble lord 
who so pathetically lamented that the devil was not so strong in 
him as he used to be forty years before, has an echo in my regrets, 
that the student is not as young in me as when those scenes were 
enacting of which I write. 

Alas, and alack ! those fingers that were wont to double up a 
watchman, are now doubled up in gout; the ankles that once 
astonished the fair, now only interest the faculty ; the very jests 
that set the table in a roar, are become as threadbare as my dress 
continuations and I, Charles O’Malley, having passed through 
every gradation of coming years, from long country dances to 
short whist — from nine times nine, and one cheer more, to weak 
negus, and a fit of coughing for chorus — find myself at the wrong 
side of , but stop, this is becoming personal ; so I shall con- 

clude my chapter ; and with a bow as graceful as rheumatism 
permits, say to one and all my kind readers, for a brief season, 
adieu. 


108 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE INVITATION THE WAGER. 

I WAS sitting at breakfast with Webber, a few mornings after 
the mess dinner I have spoken of, when Power came in hastily. 

“ Ha, the very man said he. I say, O’Malley, here’s an in- 
vitation for you from Sir George, to dine on Friday. He desired 
me to say a thousand civil things about his not having made you 
out, regrets that he was not at home when you called yesterday, 
and all that. By Jove, I know nothing like the favour you stand 
in ; and, as for Miss Dashwood, faith the fair Lucy blushed and 
tore her glove in most approved style when the old General began 
his laudation of you.” 

Pooh, nonsense,” said I ; ‘‘ that silly affair in the west.” 

Oh, very probably ; there’s reason the less for your looking so 
excessively conscious. But I must tell you, in all fairness, that 
you have no chance ; nothing short of a dragoon will go down.” 

Be assured,” said I, somewhat nettled, my pretensions do 
not aspire to the fair Miss Dashwood.” 

Tanf mieux et tant pis, mon cher. I wish to heaven mine 
did ; and, by St. Patrick, if I only played the knight errant half 
as gallantly as yourself, I should not relinquish my claims to the 
secretary-at-war himself.” 

“ What the devil brought the old General down to your wild 
regions?” inquired Webber. 

To contest the county.” 

A bright thought, truly. When a man was looking for a seat, 
why not try a place where the law is occasionally heard of?” 

‘^I’m sure I can give you no information on that head; nor 
have I ever heard how Sir George came to learn that such a place 
as Galway existed.” 

‘‘ I believe I can enlighten you,” said Power. “ Lady Dash- 
wood — rest her soul — came west of the Shannon ; she had a large 
property somewhere in Mayo, and owned some hundred acres 
of swamp, with some thousand starving tenantry thereupon, 
that people dignified as an estate in Connaught. This first sug- 
gested to him the notion of setting up for the county ; probably 
supposing that the people who never paid in rent might like to 
do so in gratitude. — How he was undeceived, O’Malley there can 
inform us. Indeed, I believe the worthy General, who was con- 
foundedly hard up when he married, expected to have got a great 
fortune, and little anticipated the three Chancery suits he suc- 
ceeded to, nor the fourteen rent-charges to his wife’s relatives that 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


109 


made up the bulk of the dower. It was an unlucky hit for him 
when he fell in with the old ^ maid’ at Bath ; and, had she lived, 
he must have gone to the Colonies. But the Lord took her one 
day, and Major Dashwood was himself again. The Duke of 
York, the story goes, saw him at Hounslow during a review — 
was much struck with his air and appearance — made some inqui- 
ries — found him to be of excellent family and irreproachable con- 
duct — made him aid-de-camp — and, in fact, made his fortune. I 
do not believe that, while doing so kind, he could by possibility 
have done a more popular thing. Every man in the army re- 
joiced at his good fortune ; so that, after all, though he has had 
some hard rubs, he has come well through, the only vestige of 
his unfortunate matrimonial connection being a correspondence 
kept up by a maiden sister of his late wife’s with him. She 
insists upon claiming the ties of kindred upon about twenty 
family eras during the year, when she regularly writes a most 
loving and ill-spelled epistle, containing the latest information from 
Mayo, with all particulars of the Macan family, of which she is 
a worthy member. To her constant hints of the acceptable nature 
of certain small remittances, the poor General is never inattentive; 
but to the pleasing prospect of a visit in the flesh from Miss Judy 
Macan the good man is dead. In fact, nothing short of being 
broke by a general court-martial could at all complete his sensa- 
tions of horror at such a stroke of fortune ; and I am not certain, 
if choice were allowed him, that he would not prefer the latter.” 

“ Then he has never yet seen her ?” said Webber. 

Never,” replied Power ; “ and he hopes to leave Ireland 
without that blessing, the prospect of which, however remote 
and unlikely,, has, I know well, more than once terrified him since 
his arrival.” 

“ I say. Power, and has your worthy General sent me a card 
for his ball?” 

Not through me. Master Frank.” 

‘‘ Well, now, I call that devilish shabby, do you know. He asks 
O’Malley there from my chambers, and never notices the other 
man, the superior partner in the firm. Eh, O’Malley, what say 
you ?” 

‘‘ Why, I didn’t know you were acquainted.” 

“ And who said we were ? It was his fault though, entirely, 
that we were not. I am, as I have ever been, the most easy fel- 
low in the world on that score — ^never give myself airs to military 
people — endure any thing, every thing — and you see the result — 
hard, aint it ?” 

‘‘ But, Webber, Sir George must really be excused in this mat- 
ter. He has a daughter, a most attractive lovely daughter, just at 
that budding unsuspecting age when the heart is most susceptible 
of impressions ; and where, let me ask, could she run such risk as 
in the chance of a casual meeting with the redoubted lady-killer, 

VoL. I. K 


110 CHARLES o’mALLEY, 

Master Frank Webber ? If he has not sought you out, then here 
be his apology.” 

A very strong case, certainly,” said Frank ; but still, had he 
confided his critical position to my honour and secrecy, he might 
have depended on me ; now, having taken the other line ” 

“ Well, what then ?” 

<< Why, he must abide the consequences. I’ll make fierce love 
to Louisa : isn’t that the name ?” 

Lucy, so please you.” 

Well, be it so — to Lucy — talk the little girl into a most de- 
plorable attachment for me.” 

‘^But how, may I ask, and when?” 

I’ll begin at the ball, man.” 

Why, I thought you said you were not going.” 

There you mistake seriously. I merely said that I had not 
been invited.” 

“ Then, of course,” said I, Webber, you can’t think of going, 
in any case, on account.” 

My very dear friend, I go entirely upon my own. I not only 
shall go, but I intend to have most particular notice and attention 
paid me. I shall be prime favourite with Sir George — kiss 
Lucy ” 

Come, come ; this is too strong.” 

What do you bet I don’t ? There now ; I’ll give you a pony 
a piece I do. Do you say done ?” 

That you kiss Miss Dash wood, and are not kicked down stairs 
for your pains ; are those the terms of the wager ?” inquired 
Power. 

With all my heart. That I kiss Miss Dashwood, and am not 
kicked down stairs for my pains.” 

Then I say done.” 

And with you too, O’Malley.” 

I thank you,” said I coldly ; I’m not disposed to make such 
a return for Sir George Dash wood’s hospitality as to make an in- 
sult to his family the subject of a bet.” 

Why, man, what are you dreaming of ? Miss Dashwood will 
not refuse my chaste salute. Come, Power, I’ll give you the other 
fifty.” 

Agreed,” said he ; at the same time, understand me distinct- 
ly— that I hold myself perfectly eligible to winning the wager by 
my own interference ; for, if you do kiss her, by Jove, I’ll perform 
the remainder of the compact.” 

So I understand the agreement,” said Webber, arranging his 
curls before the looking-glass. ‘‘Well, now, who’s for Howth; 
the drag will be here in half an hour ?” 

“Not I,” said Power; “I must return to the barracks.” 

“ Nor I,” said I, “ for I shall take this opportunity of leaving my 
card upon Sir George Dashwood.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


Ill 


“ I have won my fifty, however,’’ said Power, as we walked 
out into the courts. 

‘‘ I am not quite certain ” 

‘‘Why, the devil, he would not risk a broken neck for that sum ; 
besides, if he did, he loses the bet.” 

“ He’s a devilish keen fellow.” 

“ Let him be. In any case I am determined to be on my guard 
here.” 

So chatting, we strolled along to the Royal Hospital, when, 
having dropped my pasteboard, I returned to the College. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE BALL. 

I HAVE often dressed for a storming party with less of trepida- 
tion than I felt on the evening of Sir George Dashwood’s ball. 
Since the eventful day of the election I had never seen Miss Dash- 
wood ; therefore, as to what precise position I might occupy in 
her favour, was a matter of great doubt in my mind and great 
import to my happiness. That I myself loved her was a matter 
of which all the badinage of my friends regarding her made me 
painfully conscious ; but, that in our relative positions, such an at- 
tachment was all but hopeless I could not disguise from myself. 
Young as I was, I well knew to what a heritage of debt, law-suit, 
and difficulty I was born to succeed. In my own resourced and 
means of advancement I had no confidence whatever, had even 
the profession to which I was destined been more of my choice. 
I daily felt that it demanded greater exertions, if not not far greater 
abilities, than I could command, to make success at all likely ; 
and then, even if such a result were in store, years, at least, must 
elapse before it could happen, and where would she then be, and 
where should I-^where the ardent affection I now felt and gloried 
in — perhaps all the more for its desperate hopelessness ; when the 
sanguine and buoyant spirit to combat with difficulties which 
youth suggests, and which later manhood refuses, should have 
passed away. And, even if all these survived the toil and labour 
of anxious days and painful nights, what of her ? Alas ! I now 
reflected that although only of my own age, her manner to me had 
taken all that tone of superiority and patronage which an elder 
assumes towards one younger, and which, in the spirit of protec- 
tion it proceeds upon, essentially bars up every inlet to a dearer or 
warmer feeling — at least, when the lady plays the former part. 
What then is to be done, thought I ; forget her ? but how ? how 


112 


CHARLES o’MALLEr, 


shall I renounce all my plans and unweave the web of life I have 
been spreading around me for many a day, without that one golden 
thread that lent it more than half its brilliancy and all its attraction ? 
But, then, the alternative is even worse, if I encourage expectations 
and nurture hopes never to be realized. Well, we meet to-night, 
after a long and eventful absence : let my future fate be ruled by 
the results of this meeting. If Lucy Dashwood does care for me, 
if I can detect in her manner enough to show me that my affection 
may meet a return, the whole effort of my life shall be to make 
her mine ; if not — if my own feelings be all that I have to depend 
upon, to extort a reciprocal affection — then shall I take my last 
look of her, and with it the first and brightest dream of happiness 
my life has hitherto presented. 

« # * * * iK 

It need not be wondered at if the brilliant cou]^ d^ceil of the 
ballroom, as I entered, struck me with astonishment, accustomed 
as I had hitherto been to nothing more magnificent than an 
evening party of squires and their squiresses, or the annual 
garrison ball at the barracks. The glare of wax lights, the well- 
furnished saloons, the glitter of uniforms, and the blaze of jewelled 
and satined dames, with the clang of military music, was a spe- 
cies of enchanted atmosphere, which, breathing for the first time, 
rarely fails to intoxicate. Never before had I seen so much 
beauty : lovely faces, dressed in all the seductive flattery of 
smiles, were on every side ; and, as I walked from room to room, 
I felt how much more fatal to a man’s peace and heart’s ease the 
whispered words and silent glances of those fair damsels, than 
all the loud gaiety and boisterous freedom of our country belles, 
who sought to take the heart by storm and escalade. 

As yet I had seen neither Sir George nor his daughter, and, 
while I looked on every side for Lucy Dashwood, it was with 
a beating and anxious heart I longed to see how she would bear 
comparison with the blaze of beauty around. 

Just at this moment a very gorgeously-dressed hussar stepped 
from a door-way beside me, as if to make a passage for some 
one, and the next moment she appeared, leaning upon the arm 
of another lady. One look was all that I had time for, when she 
recognised me. 

“Ah, Mr. O’Malley — how happy — has Sir George — has my 
father seen you ?” 

“ I have only arrived this moment ; I trust he is quite well ?” 

“ Oh yes, thank you ” 

“ I beg your pardon with all humility, Miss Dashwood,” said 
the hussar, in a tone of the most knightly courtesy, “ but they are 
waiting for us.” 

“But, Captain Fortescue, you must excuse me one moment 
more. Mr. Lechmere, will you do me the kindness to find out 
Sir George ? Mr. O’Malley — Mr. Lechmere.” Here she said 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


113 


something in French to her companion, but so rapidly that I could 
not detect what it was, but merely heard the reply — ‘^pas maV^ — 
which, as the lady continued to canvass me most deliberately 
through her eye-glass, I supposed referred to me. “And now, 
Captain Fortescue’’ — and with a look of most courteous kindness 
to me, she disappeared in the crowd. 

The gentleman to whose guidance I was intrusted was one of 
the aid-de-camps, and was not long in finding Sir George. No 
sooner had the good old General heard my name, than he held 
out both his hands, and shook mine most heartily. 

“At last, O’Malley, at last I am able to thank you for the great- 
est service ever man rendered me. He saved Lucy, my Lord, 
rescued her under circumstances where any thing short of his 
courage and determination must have cost her her life.” 

“Ah ! very pretty indeed,” said a stiif old gentleman addressed, 
as he bowed a most superbly-powdered scalp before me ; “ most 
happy to make your acquaintance.” 

“ Who is he ?” added he, in nearly as loud a tone to Sir George. 

“ Mr. O’Malley, of O’Malley Castle.” 

“ True, I forgot — why is he not in uniform ?” 

“ Because unfortunately, my Lord, we don’t own him; he’s not 
in the army.” 

“ Ha, ha ! thought he was.” 

“You dance, O’Malley, I suppose? I’m sure you’d rather be 
over there than hearing all my protestations of gratitude, sincere 
and heartfelt as they really are.” 

“ Lechmere, introduce my friend Mr. O’Malley : get him a 
partner.” 

I had not followed my new acquaintance many steps, when 
Power came up to me. “ I say, Charley,” cried he, “ I have 
been tormented to death by half the ladies in the room, to present 
you to them, and have been in quest of you this half hour. 
Your brilliant exploit in savage land has made you a regular 
preux chevalier ; and, if you don’t trade on that adventure to 
your most lasting profit, you deserve to be — a lawyer. Come 
along here ; Lady Muckleman, the adjutant-general’s lady and 
chef, has four Scotch daughters you are to dance with ; then, I 
am to introduce you in all form to the Dean of something’s niece : 
she is a good-looking girl, and has two livings in a safe county. 
Then there’s the town-major’s wife, and, in fact, I have several 
engagements from this to supper time.” 

“A thousand thanks for all your kindnesses in prospective, but 
I think, perhaps, it were right I should ask Miss Dashwood to 
dance, if only as matter of form : you understand?” 

“And, if Miss Dashwood should say, ‘ with pleasure, sir,’ only 
as a matter of form : you understand,” said a silvery voice beside 
me. I turned, and saw Lucy Dashwood, who, having overheard 
my very free and easy suggestion, replied to me in this manner. 

15 K 2 


114 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


I here blundered out my excuses. What I said, and what I did 
not say, I cannot now remember ; but, certainly, it was her turn 
now to blush, and her arm trembled within mine as I led her 
to the top of the room. In the little opportunity which our 
quadrille presented for conversation, I could not help remarking 
that, after the surprise of her first meeting with me. Miss Dash- 
wood’s manner became gradually more and more reserved, and 
that there was an evident struggle between her wish to appear 
grateful for what had occurred with a sense of- the necessity 
of not incurring a greater degree of intimacy. Such was my 
impression, at least, and such the conclusion I drew from a certain 
quiet tone in her manner, that went farther to wound my feelings, 
and mar my happiness, than any other line of conduct towards 
me could possibly have effected. 

Our quadrille over, I was about to conduct her to a seat, when 
Sir George came hurriedly up, his face greatly flushed, and betray- 
ing every semblance of high excitement. 

“ Dear papa, has any thing occurred ? pray, what is it in- 
quired she. 

He smiled faintly, and replied, ‘‘Nothing very serious, my dear, 
that I should alarm you in this way ; but, certainly, a more dis- 
agreeable contreAemps could scarcely occur.” 

“ Do tell me ; what can it be ?” 

“ Read this,” said he, presenting a very dirty-lookmg note, 
which bore the mark of a red wafer, most infernally plain upon 
its outside. 

Miss Dashwood unfolded the billet, and, after a moment’s 
silence, instead of participating, as he expected, in her father’s 
feeling of distress, burst out a-laughing, while she said, “ Why, 
really, papa, I do not see why this should put you out much, after 
all. Aunt may be somewhat of a character, as her note evinces, 
but after a few days ” 

“ Nonsense, child ; there’s nothing m this world I have such a 
dread of as that confounded woman — and to come at such a 
time.” 

“ When does she speak of paying her visit ?” 

“ I knew you had not read the note,” said Sir George, hastily ; 
“she’s coming here to-night, is on her way this instant, perhaps. 
What is to be done ? If she forces her way in here, I shall go 
deranged outright. O’Malley, my boy, read this note ; and you 
will not feel surprised if I appear in the humour you see me.” 

I took the billet from the hands of Miss Dashwood, and read as 
follows : — 

“ Dear brother, — ^When this reaches your hand. I’ll not be far 
off— I’m on my way up to town, to be under Dr. Dease for the 
ould complaint. Cowley mistakes my case entirely; he says it’s 
nothing but religion and wind. Father Magrath, who understands 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


115 


a good deal about females, thinks otherwise — ^but God knows 
who^s right. Expect me to tea, and, with love to Lucy, believe 
me yours, in haste, 

“Judith Macan. 

“ Let the sheets be well aired in my room ; and, if you have 
a spare bed, perhaps we could prevail upon Father Magrath to 
stop too.’’ 

I scarcely could contain my laughter till I got to the end of this 
very free and easy epistle ; when at last I burst forth in a hearty 
fit, in which I was joined by Miss Dashwood. 

From the account Power had given me in the morning, I had 
no difficulty in guessing that the writer was the maiden sister of 
the late Lady Dashwood, and for whose relationship Sir George 
had ever testified the greatest dread, even at the distance of two 
hundred miles ; and for whom, in any nearer intimacy, he was in 
nowise prepared. 

“ I say, Lucy,” said he, “ there’s only one thing to be done ; if 
this horrid woman does arrive, let her be shoAvn to her room, and 
for the few days of her stay in town, we’ll neither see nor be 
seen by any one.” 

Without waiting for a reply. Sir George was turning away 
to give the necessary directions, when the door of the drawing- 
room was flung open, and the servant announced, in his loudest 
voice, “Miss Macan.” Never shall I forget the poor general’s 
look of horror as the words reached him ; for, as yet, he was 
too far to catch even a glimpse of its fair owner. As for me, 
I was already so much interested in seeing what she was like, 
that I made my way through the crowd towards the door. It is 
no common occurrence that can distract the various occupations 
of a crowded ball-room, where, amid the crash of music and 
the din of conversation, goes on the soft, low voice of insinuating 
flattery or the light flirtation of a first acquaintance : every clique, 
every coterie, every little group of three or four, has its own 
separate and private interests, forming a little world of its own, 
and caring and heeding nothing that goes on around ; and, even 
when some striking character or illustrious personage makes his 
enMe, the attention he attracts is so momentary that the buzz of 
conversation is scarcely, if at all, interrupted, and the business of 
pleasure continues to flow on. Not so, now, however. No sooner 
had the servant pronounced the magical name of Miss Macan, 
than all seemed to stand still. The spell thus exercised over 
the luckless general seemed to have extended to his company, for 
it was with difficulty that any one could continue his train of 
conversation, while every eye was directed towards the door. 
About two steps in advance of the servant, who still stood door 
in hand, was a tall, elderly lady, dressed in an antique brocade 


116 


CHARLES o’mALLEF, 


silk, with enormous flowers gaudily embroidered upon it. Her 
hair was powdered, and turned back, in the fashion of fifty years 
before ; while her high pointed and heeled shoes completed a 
costume that had not been seen for nearly a century. Her short, 
skinny arms were bare, and partty covered by a falling flower 
of old point lace, while on her hands she wore black silk mittens ; 
a pair of green spectacles scarcely dimmed the lustre of a most 
peering pair of eyes, to whose efect a very palpable touch of 
rouge certainly added brilliancy. There stood this most singu- 
lar apparition, holding before her a fan about the size of a modern 
tea-tray, while, at each repetition of her name by the servant, she 
courtesied deeply, returning the while upon the gay crowd before 
her a very curious look of maidenly modesty at her solitary and 
unprotected position. 

As no one had ever heard of the fair Judith, save one or two 
of Sir George’s most intimate friends, the greater part of the 
company were disposed to regard Miss Macan as some one who 
had mistaken the character of the invitation, and had come in 
a fancy dress. But this delusion was but momentary, as Sir 
George, armed with the courage of despair, forced his way 
through the crowd, and, taking her hand afiectionately, bid her 
welcome to Dublin. The fair Judy, at this, threw her arms about 
his neck, and saluted him with a hearty smack, that was heard all 
over the room. 

“ Where’s Lucy, brother ? let me embrace my little darling,” 
said the lady, in an accent that told more of Miss Macan, than 
a three volume biography could have done ; there she is, I’m 
sure ; kiss me, my honey.” 

This office Miss Dashwood performed with an effort at courtesy 
really admirable ; while, taking her aunt’s arm, she led her to a 
sofa. 

It needed all the poor general’s tact to get over the sensation of 
this most malapropos addition to his party : but, by degrees, the 
various groups renewed their occupations, although many a smile, 
and more than one sarcastic glance at the sofa, betrayed that the 
maiden aunt had not escaped criticism. 

Power, Avhose propensity for fun very considerably outstripped 
his sense of decorum to his commanding officer, had already made 
his way towards Miss Dashwood, and succeeded in obtaining a 
formal introduction to Miss Macan. 

‘‘ I hope you will do me the favour to dance next set with me, 
Miss Macan?” 

“ Really, Captain, it’s very polite of you ; but you must excuse 
me, I was never any thing great in quadrilles ; but if a reel, or a 

jig ’’ 

Oh, dear, aunt, don’t think of it, I beg of you.” 

<< Or even Sir Roger de Coverly,” resumed Miss Macan. 

“ I assure you quite equally impossible.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


117 


‘‘Then I’m certain you waltz?” said Power. 

“ What do you take me for, young man ? I hope I know better; 
I wish Father Magrath heard you ask me that question, and for 
all your lace jacket ” 

“ Dearest aunt. Captain Power didn’t mean to offend you ; I’m 
certain he ” 

“ Well, why did he dare to — sob, sob — did he see any thing 
light about me ? that he — sob, sob, sob — oh, dear, oh, dear ! is it 
for this I came up from my little peaceful place in the west ? — sob, 
sob, sob — general, George, dear ; Lucy, my love, I’m taken bad. 
Oh, dear, oh, dear — is there any whisky negus?” 

Whatever sympathy Miss Macau’s sufferings might have excited 
in the crowd about her before, this last question totally routed 
them, and a most hearty fit of laughter broke forth from more than 
one of the bystanders. 

At length, however, she was comforted, and her pacification 
completely effected by Sir George setting her down to a whist-table. 
From this moment I lost sight of her for above two hours. Mean- 
while, I had little opportunity of following up my intimacy with 
Miss Dashwood, and, as I rather suspected that, on more than one 
occasion, sire seemed to avoid our meeting, I took especial care, on 
my part, to spare her the annoyance. 

For one instant only, had I any opportunity of addressing her, 
and then there was such an evident embarrassment in her manner 
that I readily perceived how she felt circumstanced, and that the 
sense of gratitude to one whose farther advances she might have 
feared, rendered her constrained and awkward. Too true, said I, 
she avoids me ; my being here is only a source of discomfort and 
pain to her : therefore. I’ll take my leave, and, whatever it may 
cost me, never to return. With this intention, resolving to wish 
Sir George very good night, I sought him out for some minutes. 
At length, I saw liim in a corner conversing with the old nobleman 
to whom he had presented me early in the evening. 

“ True, upon my honour. Sir George,” said he; “I saw it my- 
self, and she did it just as dexterously as the oldest blackleg in 
Paris.” 

“ Why, you don’t mean to say that she cheated?” 

“ Yes, but I do though — turned the ace every time. Lady Her- 
bert said to me, ‘Very extraordinary it is — four by honours again.’ 
So I looked, and then I perceived it — a very old trick it is ; but 
she did it beautifully. What’s her name ?” 

“ Some western name ; I forget it,” said the poor general, ready 
to die with shame. 

“ Clever old woman, very,” said the old Lord, taking a pinch of 
snuff, “but revokes too often.” 

Supper was announced at this critical moment, and before I had 
farther thought of my determination to escape, I felt myself hur- 
ried along in the crowd towards the stair-case. The party im- 


118 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


mediately in front of me were Power and Miss Macan, who now 
appeared reconciled, and certainly testified most openly their 
mutual feelings of good-will. 

“ I say, Charley,’’ whispered Power, as I came along, “ it is 
capital fun — never met any thing equal to her; but the poor 
general will never live through it, and I’m certain of ten days’ 
arrest for this night’s proceeding.” 

“ Any news of Webber ?” I inquired. 

Oh yes, I fancy I can tell something of him ; for I heard of 
some one presenting himself, and being refused the entree, so that 
Master Frank has lost his money. Sit near us, I pray you, at 
supper : we must take care of the dear aunt for the niece’s sake, 
eh?” 

Not seeing the force of this reasoning, I soon separated myself 
from them, and secured a corner at a side-table. Every supper, 
on such an occasion as this, is the same scene of soiled white mus- 
lin, faded flowers, flushed faces, torn gloves, blushes, blanc-mange, 
cold chicken, jelly, sponge cakes, spooney young gentlemen doing 
the attentive, and watchful mammas calculating what precise 
degree of propinquity in the crush is safe or seasonable for their 
daughters, to the moustached and unmarrying lovers beside them. 
There are always the same set of gratified elders, like the benchers 
in King’s Inn, marched up to the head of the table, to eat, drink, 
and be happy — removed from the more profane looks and soft 
speeches ojf the younger part of the creation. Then there are the 
oi polloi of outcasts, younger sons of younger brothers, tutors, 
governesses portionless cousins, and curates, all formed in a 
phalanx round the side-table, whose primitive habits and simple 
tastes are evinced by their all eating ofi" the same plate and drink- 
ing from nearly the same wine-glass. Too happy if some better 
off acquaintance at the long table invites them to wine though 
the ceremony on their part is limited to the pantomime of drink- 
ing. To this miserable tiers etat I belonged, and bore my fate 
with unconcern ; for, alas ! my spirits were depressed and my 
heart heavy. Lucy’s treatment of me was every moment before 
me, constrasted with her gay and courteous demeanour to all, save 
myself ; and I longed for the moment to get away. 

Never had 1 seen her looking so beautiful : her brilliant eyes 
were lit with pleasure, and her smile was enchantment itself. 
What would I not have given for one moment’s explanation, as I 
took my leave forever ! — one brief avowal of my love, my unalter- 
able devoted love ; for which I sought not or expected return, but 
merely that I might not be forgotten. 

Such were my thoughts, when a dialogue quite near me aroused 
me from my revery. I was not long in detecting the speakers, 
who, with their backs turned to us, were seated at the great table, 
discussing a very liberal allowance of pigeon pie, a flask of cham- 
pagne standing between them. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


119 


‘‘ Don’t now ! don’t I tell ye, it’s little ye know Galway, or you 
would’nt think to make up to me, squeezing my foot.” 

" Upon my soul, you’re an angel, a regular angel ; I never saw 
a woman suit my fancy before.” 

Oh, behave now. Father Magrath, says ” 

“ Who’s he ?” 

‘‘ The priest no less.” 

“ Oh ! confound him.” 

“ Confound Father Magrath, young man.” 

“ Well, then, Judy, don’t be angry : I only meant that a dragoon 
knows rather more of these matters than a priest.” 

“ Well, then, I’m not so sure of that. But any how, I’d have 
you to remember it aint a Widow Malone you have beside you.” 

Never heard of the lady,” said Power. 

‘‘ Sure it’s a song — poor creature — it’s a song they made about 
her in the North Cork, when they were quartered down in our 
country.” 

‘‘ I wish to heaven you’d sing it.” 

“ What will you give me then, if I do ?” 

‘‘ Any thing — every thing — ^my heart, my life.” 

‘‘ I would’nt give a trauneen for all of them : give me that old 
green ring on your finger then.” 

‘‘ It’s yours,” said Power, placing it gracefully upon Miss Macan’s 
finger, and now for your promise.” 

Maybe my brother might not like it.” 

‘‘ He’d be delighted,” said Power, “ he doats on music.” 

‘‘ Does he now ?” 

On my honour, he does.” 

“ Well, mind, you get up a good chorus, for the song has one, 
and here it is.” 

Miss Macan’s song,” said Power, tapping the table with his 
knife. Miss Macan’s song ” was re-echoed on all sides, and be- 
fore the luckless General could interfere, she had begun. How to 
explain the air I know not, for I never heard its name, but at the 
end of each verse, a species of echo followed the last word, that 
rendered it irresistibly ridiculous. 

‘‘the widow MALONE.” 

“ Did ye hear of the Widow Malone, 

Ohone ! 

Who lived in the town of Athlone 
Alone 1 

Oh ! she melted the hearts 

Of the swains in them parts, 

So lovely the Widow Malone, 

Ohone ! 

So lovely the Widow Malone. 

“ Of lovers she had a full score. 

Or more ; 


120 


CHARLES o’mALLET, 

And fortunes they all had galore, 

In store ; 

From the minister down 
To the clerk of the crown, 

All were courting the Widow Malone, 

Ohone ! 

All were courting the Widow Malone. 

“ But so modest was Mrs. Malone, 

’Twas known 

No one ever could see her alone, 

Ohone ! 

Let them ogle and sigh. 

They could ne’er catch her eye, 

So bashful the Widow Malone, 

Ohone! 

So bashful the Widow Malone. 

“ ’Till one Mister O’Brien from Clare, 

How quare ! 

It’s little for blushin’ they care 

Down there ; 

Put his arm round her waist 
Gave ten kisses, at laste, 

‘ Oh,’ says he, ‘ you’re my Molly Malone, 

My own ;* 

‘ Oh !’ says he, ‘ you’re ray Molly Malone.* 

“ And the Widow they all thought so shy. 

My eye ! 

Ne’er thought of a simper or sigh. 

For why t 

But ‘ Lucius,’ says she, 

‘ Since you’ve made now so free. 

You may marry your Mary Malone, 

Ohone ! 

You may marry your Mary Malone.’ 

“ There’s a moral contained in my song. 

Not wrong ; 

And one comfort it’s not very long, 

But strong: 

If for widows you die, 

Larn to kiss, not to sigh ; 

For they’re all like sweet Mistress Malone, 

Ohone ! 

Oh I they’re all like sweet Mistress Malone.” 

Never did song create such a sensation as Miss Macan’s, and 
certainly her desires as to the chorus were followed to the letter ; 
for the Widow Malone, ohone !” resounded from one end of the 
table to the other, amid one universal shout of laughter. None 
could resist the ludicrous effect of her m-elody, and even poor Sir 
George, sinking under the disgrace of his relationship, which she 
had contrived to make public by frequent allusions to her dear 
brother the General,’’ yielded at last, and joined in the mirth 
around him. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


121 


I insist upon a copy of the ‘ Widow/ Miss Macan/’ said 
Power. 

‘‘ To be sure ; give me a call to-morrow ; let me see, about two 
Father Magrath won’t be at home,” said she, with a coquetish 
look. 

Where, pray, may I pay my respects.” 

“ No. 22, South Anne-street, very respectable lodgings. I’ll 
write the address in your pocket-book.” 

Power produced a card and pencil, while Miss Macan wrote a 
few lines, saying, as she handed it — 

“ There, now, don’t read it here before the people ; they’ll think 
it mighty indelicate in me to make an appointment.” 

Power pocketed the card, and the next minute Miss Macan’s 
carriage was announced. 

Sir George Dashwood, who little flattered himself that his fair 
guest had any intention of departure, became now most consider- 
ably attentive — reminded her of the necessity of muflling against 
the night air — hoped she should escape cold, and wished a most 
cordial good night, with a promise of seeing her early the follow- 
ing day. 

Notwithstanding Power’s ambition to engross the attention of 
the lady. Sir George himself saw her to her carriage, and only re- 
turned to the room as a group was collected around the gallant 
Captain, to whom he was relating some capital traits of his late 
conquest ; for such he dreamed she was. 

“ Doubt it who will,” said he, she has invited me to call on 
her to-morrow — written her address on my card — told me the hour 
she is certain of being alone. See here — ” at these words he pulled 
forth the card, and handed it to Lechmere. 

Scarcely were the eyes of the other thrown upon the writing, 
when he said, So, this isn’t it, Power.” 

‘‘ To be sure it is, man,” said Power ; Anne-street is devilish 
seedy ; but that’s the quarter.” 

“ Why, confound it, man,” said the other, there’s not a word 
of that here.” 

Read it out,” said Power ; “ proclaim aloud my victory.” 

Thus urged, Lechmere read : — 

‘‘ Dear P. — Please pay to my credit, and soon, mark ye,/he two 
ponies lost this evening. I have done myself the pleasure of en- 
joying your ball, kissed the lady, quizzed the papa, and walked 
into the cunning Fred Power. 

‘‘Yours, Frank Webber. 

“ The Widow Malone, ohone, is at your service.” 

Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, his astonishment could not 
have equalled the result of this revelation. He stamped, swore, 
raved, laughed, and almost went deranged. The joke was soon 

VoL. I. 17 L 


122 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


spread through the room, and from Sir George to poor Lucy, now 
covered with blushes at her part in the transaction, all was laugh- 
ter and astonishment. 

‘‘ Who is he ? that is the question,’^ said Sir George, who, with 
all the ridicule of the affair hanging over him, felt no common re- 
lief at the discovery of the imposition. 

“A friend of O’Malley’s,’^ said Power, delighted, in his defeat, 
to involve another with himself. 

Indeed !” said the General, regarding me with a look of a very 
mingled cast. 

“ Quite true, sir,” said I, replying to the accusation that his man- 
ner implied, but equally so, that I neither knew of his plot, nor 
recognised him when here.” 

I am perfectly sure of it, my boy,” said the General ; and, 
after all, it was an excellent joke, carried a little too far, it’s true ; 
eh, Lucy ?” 

But Lucy either heard not, or affected not to hear ; and, after 
some little further assurance that he felt not the least annoyed, the 
General turned to converse with some other friends; while I, 
burning with indignation against Webber, took a cold farewell of 
Miss Dashwood, and retired. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


123 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE LAST NIGHT IN TRINITY. 

How I might have met Master Webber after his impersonation 
of Miss Macan, I cannot possibly figure to myself. Fortimately, 
indeed, for all parties, he left town early the next morning ; and 
it was some weeks ere he returned. In the meanwhile, I became 
a daily visiter at the General’s, dined there usually three or four 
times a week, rode out with Lucy constantly, and accompanied 
her every evening either to the theatre or into society. Sir George, 
possibly from my youth, seemed to pay little attention to an inti- 
macy which he perceived every hour growing closer, and frequently 
gave his daughter into my charge in our morning excursions on 
horseback. As for me, my happiness was all but perfect. I 
loved, and already began to hope that I was not regarded with 
indifference ; for, although Lucy ’s manner never absolutely evinced 
any decided preference towards me, yet many slight and casual 
circumstances served to show me that my attentions to her were 
neither unnoticed nor u neared for. Among the many gay and 
dashing companions of our rides, I remarked that, however anxious 
for such a distinction, none ever seemed to make any way in her 
good graces ; and I had already gone far in my self-deception that 
I was destined for good fortune, when a circumstance which 
occurred one morning at length served to open my eyes to tfie 
truth, and blast, by one fatal breath, the whole harvest of my 
hopes. 

We were about to set out one morning on a long ride, when Sir 
George’s presence was required by the arrival of an officer who 
had been sent from the Horse Guards on official business. Afibr 
half-an-hour’s delay. Colonel Cameron, the officer in question was 
introduced, and entered into conversation with our party. He 
had only landed in England from the Peninsula a few days before, 
and had abundant information of the stirring events enacting there. 
At the conclusion of an anecdote — I forget what — he turned sud- 
denly round to Miss Dash wood, who was standing beside me, 
and said, in a low voice : — 

And, now. Miss Dash wood, I am reminded of a commission I 
promised a very old brother officer to perform. Can I have one 
moment’s conversation with you in the window ?” 

As he spoke, I perceived that he crumpled beneath his glove 
something like a letter. 

“ To me !” said Lucy, with a look of surprise that sadly puzzled 
me whether to ascribe it to coquetry or innocence — to me ?” 


124 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


‘^To yon,” said the Colonel, bowing; “and I am sadly deceived 
by my friend Hammersly ” 

“ Captain Hammersly,” said she, blushing deeply as she spoke 

I heard no more. She turned towards the window with the 
Colonel, and all I saw was, that he handed her a letter, which, 
having hastily broken open, and thrown her eyes over, she grew 
first deadly pale — then red, and, while her eyes filled with tears, I 
heard her say “ How like him ! — how truly generous this is !” 
I listened for no more — my brain was wheeling round, and my 
senses reeling — I turned and left the room — in another moment I 
was on my horse, galloping from the spot, despair, in all its black- 
ness, in my heart — and, in my broken-hearted misery, wishing for 
death. 

I was miles away from Dublin ere I remembered well what had 
occurred, and even then not over clearly : the fact that Lucy Dash- 
wood, whom I imagined to be my own in heart, loved another, 
was all that I really knew. That one thought was all my mind 
was capable of, and in it my misery, my wretchedness were centered. 

Of all the grief my life has known, I have had no moments like 
the long hours of that dreary night. My sorrow, in turn, took 
every shape and assumed every guise : now I remember how the 
Dashwoods had courted my intimacy and encouraged my visits ; 
how Lucy herself had evinced, in a thousand ways, that she felt 
a preference for me. I called to mind the many equivocal proofs 
I had given her that my feeling, at least, was no common one ; 
and yet, how had they sported with my affections and jested with 
my happiness ! That she loved Hammersly I had now a palpable 
proof; that this affection must have been mutual and prosecuted 
at the very moment I was not only professing my own love for 
her, but actually receiving — all but an avowal of its return — 
oh ! it was too, too base ; and, in my deepest heart, I cursed my 
folly, and vowed never to see her more. 

It was late on the next day ere I retraced my steps towards 
town, my heart sad and heavy, careless what became of me for 
the future, and pondering whether I should not at once give up 
my College career, and return to my uncle. When I reached my 
chamber, all was silent and comfortless ; Webber had not returned; 
my servant was from home ; and I felt myself more than ever 
wretched in the solitude of what had been so oft the scene of noisy 
and festive gayety. I sat some hours in a half musing state, every 
sad depressing thought that blighted hopes can conjure up rising 
in turn before me. A loud knocking at the door at length aroused 
me. I got up and opened it. No one was there : I looked around, 
as well as the coming gloom of evening would permit, but saw 
nothing. I listened, and heard, at some distance off, my friend 
Power’s manly voice, as he sang, 

“ Oh ! Love is the soul of an Irish dragoon !” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


125 


I hallooed out/^ Power.’’ 

“Eh, O’Malley, is that you?” inquired he. “Why, then, it 
seems it required some deliberation whether you opened your door 
or not. Why, man, you can have no great gift of prophecy, or 
you wouldn’t have kept me so long there.” 

“ And have you been so?” 

“ Only twenty minutes ; for, as 1 saw the key in the lock, I had 
deterfnined to succeed, if noise would do it.” 

“ How strange ! I never heard it.” 

“ Glorious sleeper you must be ; but come, my dear fellow, you 
don’t appear altogether awake yet.” 

“ I have not been quite well these few days.” 

“ Oh ! indeed. The Dashwoods thought there must have been 
something of that kind the matter, by your brisk retreat. They 
sent me after you yesterday ; but, wherever you went, heaven 
knows ; I never could come up with you ; so that your great 
news has been keeping these twenty -four hours longer than need 
be.” 

“ I am not aware what you allude to.” 

“ Well, you are not over likely to be the wiser when you hear 
it, if you can assume no more intelligent look than that. Why, 
man, there’s great luck in store for you.” 

“As how, pray. Come, Power, out with it, though I can’t 
pledge myself to feel half as grateful for my good fortune as I 
should do. What is it ?” 

“ You know Cameron ?” 

“ I have seen him,” said I, reddening. 

“Well, old Camy, as we used to call him, has brought over, 
among his other news, your gazette.” 

“My gazette ! what do you mean ?” 

“ Confound your uncommon stupidity this evening : I mean, 
man, that you are one of us — gazetted to the 14th light — the best 
fellows for love, war, and whisky, that ever sported a sabertash. 
‘ 0, love is the soul of an Irish dragoon.’ By Jove, I am as de- 
lighted to have rescued you from the black harness of the King’s 
Bench, as though you had been a prisoner there. Know, then, 
friend Charley, that on Wednesday we proceed to Fermoy, join 
some score of gallant fellows — all food for powder — and, with the 
aid of a rotten transport, and the stormy winds that blow, will be 
bronzing our beautiful faces in Portugal before the month’s out. 
But come, now, let’s see about supper; some of ours are coming 
over here at eleven, and I promised them a devilled bone ; and, as 
it’s your last night among these classic precincts, let us have a 
shindy of it.” 

While I despatched Mike to Morrison’s to provide supper, I 
heard from Power that Sir George Dashwood had interested him- 
self so strongly for me, that I had obtained my cornetcy in the 
14th ; that, fearful lest any disappointment might arise, he had 

L 2 


126 


CHARLES o’mALLEY. 


never mentioned the matter to me, but that he had previously ob- 
tained my uncle’s promise to concur in the arrangement, if his ne- 
gotiation succeeded. It had so done ; and now the long-sought- 
for object of many days was within my grasp ; but, alas ! the cir- 
cumstance which lent it all its fascinations was a vanished dream ; 
and what, but two days before, had rendered my happiness perfect, 
I listened to listlessly and almost without interest. Indeed, my 
first impulse at finding that I owed my promotion to Sir George, 
was to return a positive refusal of the cornetcy ; but then I remem- 
bered how deeply such conduct would hurt my poor uncle, to whom 
I never could give an adequate explanation. So I heard Power 
in silence to the end, thanked him sincerely for his own good- 
natured kindness in the matter, which already, by the interest he 
had taken in me, went far to heal the wounds that my own soli- 
tary musings were deepening in my heart. At eighteen, fortunately 
consolations are attainable that become more difficult at eight-and- 
twenty, and impossible at eight-and-thirty. 

While Power continued to dilate upon the delights of a soldier’s 
life — a theme which many a boyish dream had long since made 
hallowed to my thoughts — I gradually felt my enthusiasm rising, 
and a certain throbbing at my heart betrayed to me that, sad and 
dispirited as I felt, there was still within that buoyant spirit which 
youth possesses as its privilege, and which answers to the call of 
enterprise as the war-horse to the trumpet. That a career worthy 
of manhood, great, glorious, and inspiriting, opened before me, 
coming so soon after the late downfall of my hopes, was, in itself, a 
source of such true pleasure, that ere long I listened to my friend, 
and heard his narrative with breathless interest. A lingering 
sense of pique, too, had its share in all this. I longed to come 
forward in some manly and dashing part, where my youth might 
not be ever remembered against me, and when, having brought 
myself to the test, I might no longer be looked upon and treated 
as a boy. 

We were joined at length by the other officers of the 14 th, and, 
to the number of twelve, sat down to supper. 

It was to be my last night in old Trinity, and we resolved that 
the farewell should be a solemn one. Mansfield, one of the wildest 
young fellows in the regiment, had vowed that the leave-taking 
should be commemorated by some very decisive and open expres- 
sion of our feelings, and had already made some progress in 
arrangements for blowing up the great bell, which had more than 
once obtruded upon our morning convivialities ; but he was over- 
ruled by his more discreet associates, and we at length assumed our 
places at table, in the midst of which stood a hecatomb of all my 
college equipments, cap, gown, bands, &c. A funeral pile of 
classics was arrayed upon the hearth, surmounted by my ‘‘ Book 
on the Cellar,” and a punishment roll waved its length, like a 
banner, over the doomed heroes of Greece and Home. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


127 


It is seldom that any very determined attempt to be gay par ex- 
cellence has a perfect success ; but certainly upon this evening ours 
had. Songs, good stories, speeches, toasts, bright visions of the 
campaign before us, the wild excitement which such a meeting 
cannot be free from, gradually, as the wine passed from hand to 
hand, seized upon all ; and about four in the morning, such was 
the uproar we caused, and so terrific the noise of our proceedings, 
that the accumulated force of porters, sent one by one, to demand 
admission, was now a formidable body at the door ; and Mike, at 
last, came in to assure us that the Bursar, the most dread official 
of all collegians, was without, and insisted, with a threat of his 
heaviest displeasure in case of refusal, that the door should be 
opened. 

A committee of the whole house immediately sat upon the ques- 
tion, and it was at length resolved, nemine contradicente,i\ieii i]\Q 
request should be complied with. A fresh bowl of punch, in 
honour of our expected guest, was immediately concocted, a new 
broil put on the gridiron, and, having seated ourselves with as 
great a semblance of decorum as four bottles a man admits of, 
Curtis, the junior captain, being most drunk, was deputed to re- 
ceive the Bursar at the door, and introduce him to our august 
presence. 

Mike^s instructions were, that immediately on Dr. Stone, the 
Bursar’s entering, the door was to be slammed to, and none of his 
followers admitted. This done, the Doctor was to be ushered in, 
and left to our own polite attentions. 

A fresh thundering from without scarcely left time for further 
deliberation; and at last Curtis moved towards the door, in execu- 
tion of his mission. 

Is there any one there ?” said Mike, in a tone of most unso- 
phisticated innocence, to a rapping that, having lasted three quar- 
ters of an hour, threatened now to break in the panel. “ Is there 
any one there ?” 

Open the door this instant — the senior Bursar desires you — 
this instant.” 

Sure it’s night, and we’re all in bed,” said Mike. 

Mr. Webber — Mr. O’Malley,” said the Bursar, now boiling 
with ijadignation, I summon you, in the name of the Board, to 
admit me.” 

“ Let the gemmen in,” hiccupped Curtis ; and, at the same 
instant, the heavy bars were withdrawn, and the door opened, 
but so sparingly as with difficulty to admit the passage of the 
burly figure of the Bursar. 

Forcing his way through, and, regardless of what became of 
the rest, he pushed on vigorously through the ante-chamber, and, 
before Curtis could perform his functions of usher, stood in the 
midst of us. What were his feelings at the scene before him, 


128 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


heaven knows. The number of figures in uniform at once be- 
trayed how little his jurisdiction extended to the great mass of the 
company, and he immediately turned towards me. 

‘‘Mr. Webber 

“ O’Malley, if you please, Mr. Bursar,” said I, bowing with 
most ceremonious politeness. 

“ No matter, sir ; arcades ambo, I believe.” 

“ Both archdeacons,” said Melville, translating, with a look of 
withering contempt upon the speaker. 

The Doctor continued, addressing me : — 

“ May I ask, sir, if you believe yourself possessed of any privi- 
lege for converting this university into a common tavern ?” 

“ I wished to heaven he did,” said Curtis j “ capital tap your 
old commons would make.” 

“ Really, Mr. Bursar,” replied I, modestly, “ I had begun to 
flatter myself that our little innocent gayety had inspired you with 
the idea of joining our party.” 

“ I humbly move that the old cove in the gown do take the 
chair,” sang out one. “ All who are of this opinion say, ‘ Ay’ ” — 
a perfect yell of ayes followed this. “ All who are of the con- 
trary say, ‘ No.’ The ayes have it.” 

Before the luckless Doctor had a moment for thought, his legs 
were lifted from under him, and he was jerked rather than placed 
upon a chair, and put sitting upon the table. 

“ Mr. O’Malley, your expulsion within twenty-four hours ” 

“ Hip, hip, hurra, hurra, hurra !” drowned the rest, while 
Power, taking otf the Doctor’s cap, replaced it by a foraging cap, 
very much to the amusement of the party. 

“ There is no penalty the law permits of, that I shall not ” 

“ Help the Doctor,” said Melville, placing a glass of punch in 
his unconscious hand. 

“ Now for a ‘ Viva la Compagnie,’ ” said Telford, seating him- 
self at the piano, and playing the first bars of that well-known 
air, to which, in our meetings, we were accustomed to improvise 
a doggerel in turn : — 

“ I drink to the graces, Law, Physic, Divinity, 

Viva la Compagnie ; 

And here’s to the worthy old Bursar of Trinity, 

Viva la Compagnie.” 

“ Viva, viva la va,” &c. were chorussed with a shout that shook 
the old walls, while Power took up the strain : — 

“ Though with lace caps and gowns they look so like asses, 

Viva la Compagnie, 

They’d rather have punch than the springs of Parnassus, 

Viva la Compagnie. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


129 


What a nose the old gentleman has, by the way, 

Viva la Compagnie, 

Since he smelt out the devil from Botany Bay,* 

Viva la Compagnie.” 

Words cannot give even the faintest idea of the poor Bursar’s 
feelings while these demoniacal orgies were enacting around him. 
Held fast in his chair by Lechmere and another, he glowered on 
the riotous mob around like a maniac, and astonishment that such 
liberties could be taken with one in his situation seemed to have 
surpassed even his rage and resentment ; and every now and ’ 
then a stray thought would flash across his mind that we were 
mad, a sentiment which, unfortunately, our conduct was but too 
well calculated to inspire. 

‘‘ So you’re the morning lecturer, old gentleman, and have just 
dropped in here in the way of business : pleasant life you must 
have of it,” said Casey, now by far the most tipsy man pre- 
sent. 

“ If you think, Mr. O’Malley, that the events of this evening 
are to end here ” 

“ Very far from it. Doctor,” said Power; ^^I’ll draw up a little 
account of the affair for ‘ Saunders.’ They shall hear of it in 
every corner and nook of the kingdom.” 

The Bursar of Trinity shall be a proverb for a good fellow 
that loveth his lush,” hiccupped out Fegan. 

And if you believe that such conduct is academical,” said the 
Doctor, with a withering sneer 

Perhaps not,” lisped Melville, tightening his belt ; “ but it’s 
devilish convivial — eh, Doctor ?” 

Is^ that like him ?” said Moreton, producing a caricature, 
which he had just sketched. 

Capital — very good — perfect. M^Cleary shall have it in his 
window by noon to-day,” said Power. 

At this instant some of the combustibles disposed among the 
rejected habiliments of my late vocation caught fire, and squibs, 
crackers, and detonating shots went off on all sides. The Bursar, 
who had not been deaf to several hints and friendly suggestions, 
about setting fire to him, blowing him up, &c., with one vigorous 
spring burst from his antagonists, and, clearing the table at a 
bound, reached the floor. Before he could be seized he had 
gained the door — opened it, and was away. We gave chase, 
yelling like so many devils; but wine and punch, songs and 
speeches had done their work, and more than one among the 
pursuers measured his length upon the pavement; while the 
terrified Bursar, with the speed of terror, held on his way, and 
gained his chambers, by about twenty yards in advance of Power 

* Botany Bay is the slang name given by College men to a new square rather remotely 
situated from the remainder of the College. 

17 


130 


CHARLES O^MALLEY, 


and Melville, whose pursuit only ended when the oaken panel 
of the door shut them out from their victim. One loud cheer 
beneath his window served for our farewell to our friend, and we 
returned to my rooms. By this time a regiment of those classic 
functionaries, ycleped porters, had assembled around the door, 
and seemed bent upon giving battle in honour of their maltreated 
ruler; put Power explained to them, in a neat speech, replete 
with Latin quotations, that their cause was a weak one, that we 
were more than their match, and, finally, proposed to them to 
finish the punch-bowl, to which we were really incompetent, 
a motion that met immediate acceptance ; and old Duncan, with 
his helmet in one hand, and a goblet in the other, wished me 
many happy days, and every luck in this life, as I stepped from 
the massive archway, and took my last farewell of old Tri- 
nity. 

Should any kind reader feel interested as to the ulterior course 
assumed by the Bursar, I have only to say that the terrors of the 
“ Board” were never fulminated against me, harmless and inno- 
cent as I should have esteemed them. The threat of giving 
publicity to the entire proceedings by the papers, and the dread 
of figuring in a sixpenny caricature in M^Cleary’s window, were 
too much for the worthy Doctor, and he took the wiser course, 
under the circumstances, and held his peace about the matter. I 
too have done so for many a year, and only now recall the - scene 
among the wild transactions of early days and boyish follies. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


131 


CHAPTER XXL 

THE PHCENIX PARK. 

What a glorious thing it is, when our first waking thoughts 
not only dispel some dark depressing dream, but arouse us to the 
consciousness of a new and bright career suddenly opening before 
us, buoyant in hope, rich in promise for the future. Life has 
nothing better than this. The bold spring by which the mind 
clears the depth that separates misery from happiness, is ecstasy 
itself; and, then, what a world of bright visions come teeming 
before us ; what plans we form ; what promises we make to our- 
selves in our own hearts : how prolific is the dullest imagination ; 
how excursive the tamest fancy, at such a moment ! In a few 
short and fleeting seconds, the events of a whole life are planned 
and pictured before us. Dreams of happiness and visions of bliss, 
of which all our after-years are insufficient to eradicate the pres- 
tige, come in myriads about us ; and from that narrow aperture 
through which this new hope pierces into our heart, a flood of 
light is poured that illumines our path to the very verge of the 
grave. How many a success in after days is reckoned as but one 
step in that ladder ,of ambition some boyish review has framed, 
perhaps, after all, destined to be the first and only one ! With 
what triumph we hail some goal attained, some object of our 
wishes gained, less for its present benefit, than as the accomplish- 
ment of some youthful prophecy, when picturing to our hearts all 
that we would have in life, we whispered within us the flattery 
of success. 

Who is there who has not had some such moment, and who 
would exchange it, with all the delusive and deceptive influences 
by which it comes surrounded, for the greatest actual happiness 
he has partaken of.^ Alas, alas! it is only in the boundless ex- 
panse of such imaginings, unreal and fictitious as they are, that 
we are truly blessed. Our choicest blessings in life come ever so 
associated with some sources of care, that the cup of enjoyment 
is not pure, but dregged in bitterness. 

To such a world of bright anticipation did I awake on the 
morning after the events I have detailed in my last chapter. The 
first thing my eyes fell upon was an official letter from the Horse 
Guards : — 

The Commander of the Forces desires that Mr. O^Malley will 
repair immediately on the receipt of this letter to the head quar- 
ters of the regiment to which he is gazetted.’^ 


132 


CHARLES O^MALLEY. 


Few and simple as the lines were, how brimful of pleasure 
they sounded to my ears. The regiment to which I was gazetted! 
and so I was a soldier at last : the first wish of my boyhood was 
then really accomplished ; and my uncle, what will he say ? what 
will he think ? 

“ A letter, sir, by the post,’’ said Mike, at the moment. 

I seized it eagerly ; it came from home, but was in Considine’s 
Iiandwriting ; how my heart failed me as I turned to look at the 
seal ! Thank God,” said I aloud, on perceiving that it was a 
red one. I now tore it open and read : — 

My dear Charley, — Godfrey, being laid up with the gout, has 
desired me to write to you by this day’s post. Your appointment 
to the 14th, notwithstanding all his prejudices about the army, has 
given him sincere pleasure. I believe, between ourselves, that 
your college career, of which he has heard something, convinced 
him that your forte did not lie in the classics ; you know I said so 
always, but nobody minded me. Your new prospects are all that 
your best friends could wish for you ; you begin early ; your corps 
is a crack one-, you are ordered for service. What could you 
have more ? 

“Your uncle hopes, if you can get a few days’ leave, that ybu 
will come down here before you join, and I hope so too ; for he is 
unusually low spirited, and talks about his never seeing you again, 
and all that sort of thing. 

“ I have written to Merivale, your colonel, on this subject, as 
well as generally on your behalf; we were cornets together forty 
years ago : a strict fellow you’ll find him, but a trump on service. 
If you can’t manage the leave, write a long letter home at all 
events ; and so God bless you, and all success. 

“ Yours sincerely, 

“ W. CONSIDINE.” 

“ I had thought of writing you a long letter of advice for your 
new career, and, indeed, half accomplished one. After all, how- 
ever, I can tell you little that your own good sense will not teach 
you as you go on, and experience is ever better than precept. I 
know of but one rule in life which admits of scarcely any excep- 
tion, and having followed it upwards of sixty years, approve of it 
only the more. — Never quarrel when you can help it ; but meet 
any man — ^your tailor, your hairdresser — if he wishes to have 
you out. 

“W. C.” 

I had scarcely come to the end of this very characteristic epis- 
tle, when two more letters were placed upon my table. One was 
from Sir George Dashwood, inviting me to dinner, to meet some 
of my “ brother officers.” How my heart beat at the expression ; 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


133 


the other was a short note, marked ‘^private,” from my late tutor, 
Dr. Mooney, saying, that ‘‘if I made a suitable apology to the 
Bursar, for the late affair at my room, he might probably be in- 
duced to abandon any further step otherwise — then followed 
innumerable threats about fine, penalties, expulsion, &c., that fell 
most harmlessly upon my ears. I accepted the invitation; de- 
clined the apology ; and, having ordered my horse, cantered off to 
the barracks to consult my friend Power as to all the minor details 
of my career. 

As the dinner hour drew near, my thoughts became again fixed 
upon Miss Dashwood, and a thousand misgivings crossed my 
mind, as to whether I should have nerve enough to meet her, 
without disclosing in my manner the altered state of my feelings, 
a possibility which I now dreaded fully as much as I had longed 
some days before to avow my affection for her, however slight its 
prospects of return. All my valiant resolves and well-contrived 
plans for appearing unmoved and indifferent in her presence, with 
which I stored my mind while dressing, and when on my way to 
dinner, were, however, needless, for it was a party exclusively 
of men; and, as the coffee was served in the dinner-room, no 
move was made to the drawing-room by any of the company. 
Quite as well as it is, was my muttered opinion, as I got into my 
cab at the door. All is at an end as regards me in her esteem, 
and I must pot spend my days sighing for a young lady that cares 
for another. Very reasonable, very proper resolutions these ; but, 
alas ! I went home to bed, only to think half the night long of the 
fair Lucy, and dream of her the remainder of it. 

When morning dawned, my first thought was, Shall I see 
her once more ? shall I leave her forever thus abruptly ? or, 
rather, shall I not unburden my bosom of its secret, confess my 
love, and say farewell? I felt such a course much more in uni- 
son with my wishes, than the day before ; and, as Power had told 
me that before a week we should present ourselves at Fermoy, I 
knew that no time was to be lost. 

My determination was taken. I ordered my horse, and, early 
as it was, rode out to the Royal Hospital. My heart beat so 
strongly as I rode up to the door, that I half resolved to return. I 
rang the bell. Sir George was in town. Miss Dashwood had 
just gone five minutes before, to spend some days at Carton. It is 
fate, thought I, as I turned from the spot, and walked slowly be- 
side my horse towards Dublin. 

In the few days that intervened before my leaving town, my 
time was occupied from morning to night : the various details of 
my uniform, outfit, &c., were undertaken for me by Power. My 
horses were sent for to Galway, and I myself, with innumerable 
persons to see, and a mass of business to transact, contrived, at 
least three times a day, to ride out to the Royal Hospital, always 


134 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


to make some trifling inquiry for Sir George, and always to hear 
repeated that Miss Dashwood had not returned. 

Thus passed five of my last six days in Dublin, and, as the 
morning of the last opened, it was with a sorrowing spirit that I 
felt my hour of departure approach, without one only opportunity 
of seeing Lucy, even to say good-bye. 

While Mike was packing in one corner, and I in another was 
concluding a long letter tp my poor uncle, my door opened, and 
Webber entered. 

Eh, O’Malley, Pm only in time to say adieu ! it seems. To 
my surprise this morning I found you bad cut the Silent Sister.” 
I feared I should be too late to catch one glimpse of you ere you 
started for the wars.” 

You are quite right, Master Frank, and I scarcely expected to 
have seen you. Your last brilliant achievement at Sir George’s 
very nearly involved me in a serious scrape.” 

mere trifle. How confoundedly silly Power must have 
looked, eh? Should like so much to have seen his face. He 
booked up next day — very proper fellow. By the bye, O’Malley, 
I rather like the little girl ; she is decidedly pretty ; and her foot ! 
did you remark her foot ? — capital !” 

Yes, she’s very good-looking,” said I, carelessly. 

Pm thinking of cultivating her a little,” said Webber, pulling 
up his cravat and adjusting his hair at the glass. She’s spoiled 
by all the tinsel vapouring of her hussar and aid-de-camp acquaint- 
ances ; but something may be done for her, eh ?” 

With your most able assistance and kind intentions.” 

That’s what I mean exactly. Sorry you’re going — devilish 
sorry. You served out Stone gloriously : perhaps it’s as well, 
though ; you know they’d have expelled you ; but still some- 
thing might turn up ; soldiering is a bad style of thing, eh ? 
How the old General did take his sister-in-law’s presence to 
heart ! But he must forgive and forget, for Pm going to be very 
great friends with him and Lucy. Where are you going now ?” 

Pm about to try a new horse before troops,” said I. He’s 
stanch enough with the cry of the fox-pack in his ears, but I don’t 
know how he’lF stand a peal of artillery.” 

^^Well, come along,” said Webber, ‘M’ll ride with you.” So 
saying, we mounted and set off to the Park, where two regiments 
of cavalry and some horse artillery were ordered for inspection. 

The review was over when we reached the exercising ground, 
and we slowly walked our horses towards the end of the Park, in- 
tending to return to Dublin by the road. We had not proceeded 
far, when, some hundred yards in advance, we perceived an offi- 
cer riding with a lady, followed by an orderly dragoon. 

There he goes,” said Webber ; “ I wonder if he’d ask me to 
dinner, if I were to throw myself in his way ?” 

‘‘Who do you mean?” said I. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


135 


“ Sir George Dashwood, to be sure, and, la voila, Miss Lucy. 
The little darling rides well, too : how squarely she sits her horse. 
O’Malley, I have a weakness there ; upon my soul, I have.” 

‘‘Very possibly,” said I; “I am aware of another friend of 
mine participating in the sentiment.” 

“ One Charles O’Malley, of his Majesty’s ” 

“ Nonsense, man — no, no. I mean a very different person, and, 
for all I can see, with some reason to hope for success.” 

“ Oh, as to that, we flatter ourselves the thing does not present 
any very considerable difficulties.” 

“ As how, pray ?” 

“ Why, of course, like all such matters, a very decisive determi- 
nation. To be, to do, and to suffer, as Lindley Murray says, car- 
ries the day. Tell her she’s an angel every day for three weeks. 
She may laugh a little at first, but she’ll believe it in the end. 
Tell her that you have not the slightest prospect of obtaining her 
affection, but still persist in loving her. That, finally, you must 
die from the effects of despair, &c., but rather like the notion of it than 
otherwise. That you know she has no fortune ; that you havn’t 
a sixpence ; and who should marry if people whose position in the 
world was similar did not?” 

“But halt : pray how are you to get time and place for all such 
interesting conversations ?” 

“ Time and place ! Good heavens, what a question ! Is not 
every hour of the twenty-four the fittest : is not every place the 
most suitable ? A sudden pause in the organ in St. Patrick’s did, 
it is true, catch me once in a declaration of love ; but the choir 
came in to my aid, and drowned the lady’s answer. My dear 
O’Malley, what could prevent you this instant, if you are so dis- 
posed, from doing the amiable to the darling Lucy, there ?” 

“ With the father for an umpire, in case we disagreed,” said I. 

“ Not at all. I should soon get rid of him.” 

“ Impossible, my dear friend.” 

“ Come now, just for the sake of convincing your obstinacy. 
If you like to say good-bye to the little girl without a witness. 
I’ll take off the he-dragon.” 

“ You don’t mean ” 

“ I do, man — I do mean it.” So saying, he drew a crimson silk 
handkerchief from his pocket, and fastened it round his waist like 
an officer’s sash. This done, and telling me to keep in their wako, 
for some minutes, he turned from me, and was soon concealed by 
a copse of whitethorn near us. 

I had not gone above a hundred yards farther, when I heard 
Sir George’s voice calling for the orderly. I looked, apd saw 
Webber at a considerable distance in front, curveting and play- 
ing all species of antics. The distance between the General and 
myself was now so short, that I overheard the following dialogue 
with the sentry : — 


136 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


“ He’s not in uniform, then ?” 

No, sir ; he has a round hat.” 

“ A round hat !” 

“ His sash ” 

‘‘ A sword and sash. This is too bad. I’m determined to find 
him out. Follow, then.” 

How d’ye do. General ?^’ said Webber, as he rode towards 
the trees. 

Stop, sir,” shouted Sir George. 

Good day. Sir George,” replied Webber, retiring. 

‘‘ Stay where you are, Lucy,” said the General, as dashing spurs 
into his horse, he sprung forward at a gallop, incensed beyond 
endurance that his most strict orders should be so openly and in- 
sultingly transgressed. 

Webber led on to a deep hollow, where the road passed between 
two smooth slopes, covered with furze trees, and from which it 
emerged afterwards in the thickest and most intricate part of the 
Park. Sir George dashed boldly after, and, in less than half a 
minute, both were lost to my view, leaving me in breathless 
amazement at Master Frank’s ingenuity, and some puzzle as to 
my own future movements. 

‘‘ Now then, or never,” said I, as I pushed boldly forward, and 
in an instant was alongside of Miss Dashwood. 

Her astonishment at seeing me so suddenly increased the confu- 
sion from which I felt myself suffering, and, for some minutes, 
I could scarcely speak. At last, I plucked up courage a little, and 
said : — 

‘‘ Miss Dashwood, I have looked most anxiously, for the last 
four days, for the moment which chance has now given me. I 
wished, before I parted forever with those to whom I owe already 
so much, that I should, at least, speak my gratitude ere I said good- 
bye.” 

But when do you think of going ?” 

‘‘To-morrow; Captain Power, under whose command I am, 
has received orders to embark immediately for Portugal.” 

I thought — perhaps it was but a thought — that her cheek grew 
somiewhat paler as I spoke; but she remained silent; and I, 
scarcely knowing what I had said, or whether I had finished, spoke 
not either. 

“ Papa, I’m sure, is not aware,” said she, after a long pause, 
“ of your intention of leaving so soon ; for, only last night, he 
spoke of some letters he meant to give you to some friends in the 
Peninsula ; besides, I know” — here she smiled faintly — “ that he 
destined some excellent advice for your ears, as to your new path 
in life, for he has an immense opinion of the value of such to a 
young officer.” 

“ I am, indeed, most grateful to Sir George, and truly never did 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


137 


any one stand more in need of counsel than I do.” This was 
said half musingly, and not intended to be heard. 

Then, pray, consult Papa,” said she, eagerly ; he is much 
attached to you, and will, Fm certain, do all in his power ” 

Alas ! I fear not. Miss Dashwood.” 

“ Why, what can you mean ? has any thing so serious occur- 
red?” 

No, no : Fm but misleading you, and exciting your sympathy 
with false pretences. Should I tell you all the truth, you would 
not pardon, perhaps not hear me.” 

You have, indeed, puzzled me ; but, if there is any thing in 
which my father ” 

Less him than his daughter,” said I, fixing my eyes full upon 
her as I spoke. Yes, Lucy, I feel I must confess it, cost what 
it may, I love you ; stay, hear me out : I know the fruitlessness, 
the utter despair, that awaits such a sentiment. My own heart tells 
me that I am not, cannot be, loved in return ; yet, would I rather 
cherish in its core my affection slighted and unblessed, such as it 
is, than own another heart. I ask for nothing; I hope for nothing; 
I merely entreat that, for my truth, I may meet belief, and, for my 
heart’s worship of her whom alone I can love, compassion. I see 
that you at least pity me. Nay, one word more; I have one 
favour more to ask ; it is my last, my only one. Do not, when 
time and distance may have separated us — perhaps, forever, think 
that the expressions I now use are prompted by a mere sudden 
ebullition of boyish feeling : do not attribute to the circumstance 
of my youth alone the warmth of the attachment I profess; 
for I swear to you, by every hope I have, that, in my heart of 
hearts, my love to you is the source and spring of every action in 
my life, of every aspiration in my heart ; and, when I cease to 
love you, I shall cease to feel. 

And now, farewell : farewell forever.” I pressed her hand 
to my lips, gave one long last look, turned my horse rapidly away, 
and, ere a minute, was far out of sight of where I left her 


m2 


18 


138 


CHARLES O^MALLEr, 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE ROAD. 

Power was detained in town by some orders from the adjutant- 
general, so that I started for Cork, the next morning, with no other 
companion than my servant Mike. For the first few stages upon 
the road, my own thoughts sufficiently occupied me, to render me 
insensible or indifferent to all else. My opening career — the pros- 
pects my new life as a soldier held out — my hopes of distinction — 
my love of Lucy, with all its train of doubts and fears — passed in 
review before me, and I took no note of time till far past noon. I 
now looked to the back part of the coach, where Mike’s voice had 
been, as usual, in the ascendant for some time, and perceived that 
he was surrounded by an eager auditory of four raw recruits, who, 
under the care of a sergeant, were proceeding to Cork to be en- 
rolled in their regiment. The sergeant, whose minutes of wakeful- 
ness were only these, when the coach stopped to change horses, 
and when he got down to mix a siimmat hot,” paid little attention 
to his followers, leaving them perfectly free in all their movements, 
to listen to Mike’s eloquence, and profit by his suggestions, should 
they deem fit. Master Michael’s services to his new acquaintances, 
I began to perceive, were not exactly of the same nature as Dibdin 
is reported to have rendered to our navy in the late war. Far 
from it ; his theme was no contemptuous disdain for danger — ^no 
patriotic enthusiasm to fight for home and country — no proud 
consciousness of British valour, mingled with the appropriate 
hatred of our mutual enemies ; on the contrary, Mike’s eloquence 
was enlisted for the defendant. He detailed, and in no unimpressive 
way either, the hardships of a soldier’s life, its dangers, its vicissi- 
tudes, its chances, its possible penalties, its inevitably small rewards, 
and, in fact, so completely did he work on the feelings of his hearers, 
that I perceived more than one glance exchanged between the 
victims, that certainly betokened any thing save the resolve to 
fight for King George. It was at the close of a long and most 
powerful appeal upon the superiority of any other line of life, 
petty larcency and small felony inclusive, that he concluded with 
the following quotation : — 

Thrue for ye boys ! 

“ With your red scarlet coat, 

You’re as proud as a goat, 

And your long cap and feather. 

‘‘ But by the piper that played before Moses, it’s more whipping 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


139 


nor gingerbread is going on amongst them ; av ye knew but all, 
and heerd the misfortune that happened to my,father.” 

And was he a sodger inquired one. 

“Troth was he, more sorrow to him, and wasn’t he amost 
whipped, one day, for doing what he was bid.” 

“ Musha, but that was hard.” 

“To be sure it was hard ; but faix, when my father seen that 
they didn’t know their own minds, he thought, anyhow, he knew 
his, so he ran away ; and devil a bit of him they ever cotch afther. 
Maybe, ye might like to hear the story, and there’s instruction in 
it for ye too.” 

A general request to this end being preferred by the company, 
Mike took a shrewd look at the sergeant, to be sure that he was 
still sleeping, settled his coat comfortably across his knees, and 
began. 

“ Well, it’s a good many years ago my father listed in the North 
Cork, just to oblige Mr. Barry, the landlord there ; ^ for,’ says he, 
‘ Phil,’ says he, ‘ it’s not a soldier ye’ll be at all, but my own man, 
to brush my clothes and go errands, and the like o’ that, and the 
king, long life to him, will help to pay ye for your trouble — ye un- 
derstand me.’ Well, my father agreed, and Mr. Barry was as good 
as his word. Never a guard did my father mount, nor as much 
as a drill had he, nor a roll-call, nor any thing at all, save and ex- 
cept wait on the Captain, his master, just as pleasant as need be, 
and no inconvenience in life. 

“Well, for three years, this went on as Pm telling, and the re- 
giment was ordered down to Banthry, because of a report that the 
^ boys’ was rising down there ; and the second evening there was 
a night party patrolling, with Captain Barry, for six hours in the 
rain, and the Captain, God be marciful to him, tuk cowld and died ; 
more betoken, they said it was drink, but my father says it wasn’t ; 
‘ for,’ says he, ‘ after he tuk eight tumblers comfortable,’ my 
father mixed the ninth, and the Captain waved his hand this way, 
as much as to say, he’d have no more. ^ Is it that ye mean ?’ says 
my father, and the Captain nodded. ‘ Musha, but it’s sorry I am,’ 
says my father, ^ to see you this way, for ye must be bad entirely 
to leave off in the beginning of the evening.’ And thrue for him, 
the Captain was dead in the morning. 

“ A sorrowful day it was for my father, when he died ; it was 
the finest place in the world : little to do ; plenty of divarsion ; and 
a kind man he was — when he was drunk. Well, then, when the 
Captain was buried, and all was over ; my father hoped they’d be 
for letting him away, as he said ^ Sure, I’m no use in life to any- 
body, save the man that’s gone, for his ways are all I know, and I 
never was a sodger.’ But, upon my conscience, they had other 
thoughts in their heads ; for they ordered him into the ranks to be 
drilled just like the recruits they took the day before. 

“ ‘ Musha, isn’t this hard ?’ said my father ; ‘ here I am an ould 


140 


CHARLES O’MALLEY, 


vitrin that ought to be discharged on a pension, with two-and-six- 
pence a day, oblige^d to go capering about the barrack yard prac- 
tising the goose step, or some other nonsense not becoming my 
age nor my habits but so it was. Well, this went on for some 
time, and, sure, if they were hard on my father, hadn’t he his re- 
venge, for he nigh broke their hearts with his stupidity ; oh ! no- 
thing in life could equal him ; devil a thing, no matter how easy, 
he could learn at all, and, so far from caring for being in confine- 
ment, it was that he liked best. Every sergeant in the regiment 
had a trial of him, but all to no good, and he seemed striving so 
hard to learn all the while, that they were loath to punish him, the 
ould rogue ! 

‘‘This was going on for some time, when, one day, news came in 
that a body of the rebels, as they called them, was coming down 
from the Gap ofMulnavick, to storm the town, and burn all before 
them. The whole regiment was of coorse under arms, and great 
preparations was made for a battle ; meanwhile patrols were 
ordered to scour the roads, and sentries posted at every turn of the 
way and every rising ground, to give warning when the boys came 
in sight, and my father was placed at the bridge of Drumsnag, in 
the wildest and bleakest part of the whole country, with nothing 
but furze mountains on every side, and a straight road going over 
the top of them. 

“ ‘ This is pleasant,’ says my father, as soon as they left him 
there alone by himself, with no human crayture to speak to, nor a 
whisky shop within ten miles of him; ‘cowld comfort,’ says he, 
‘on a winter’s day, and faix but I’ve a mind to give ye the slip.’ 

“ Well, he put his gun down on the bridge, and he lit his pipe, 
and he sat down under an ould tree, and began to ruminate upon 
his affairs. 

“ ‘ Oh, then, it’s wishing it well I am,’ says he, ‘ for sodgering ; 
and, bad luck to the hammer that struck the shilling that listed me, 
that’s all,’ for he was mighty low in his heart. 

“ Just then a noise came rattling down near him ; he listened ; 
and before he could get on his legs, down comes the General, ould 
Cohoon, with an orderly after him. 

“ ‘ Who goes that ?’ says my father. 

“ ‘ The round,’ says the General, looking about all the time to 
see where was the sentry, for my father was snug under the 
tree. 

“ ‘ What round ?’ says my father. 

“‘The grand round,’ says the General, more puzzled than 
afore. 

“ ‘ Pass on, grand round, and God save you kindly,’ says my 
father, putting his pipe in his mouth again, for he thought all was 
over. 

“ ‘ D — n your soul, where are you ?’ says the General ; for sor- 
row bit of my father could he see yet. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


141 


‘ It’s here I am/ says he, ^ and a cowld place I have of it ; and 
av it wasn’t for the pipe I’d be lost entirely.’ 

The words wasn’t well out of his mouth, when the General 
began laughing till ye’d think he’d fall off his horse ; and the 
dragoon behind him — more by token, they say it wasn’t right for 
him— laughed as loud as himself. 

‘ Yer a droll sentry,’ says the General, as soon as he could 
speak. 

‘•^Be gorra, it’s little fun there’s left in me,’ says my father, 
‘ with this drilling, and parading, and blaguarding about the roads 
all night.’ 

^ And is this the way you salute your officer?’ says the Gene- 
ral. 

“ ^ J ust so,’ says my father ; ‘ devil a more politeness ever they 
taught me.’ . 

“ ‘ What regiment do you belong to ?’ says the General. 

‘ The North Cork, bad luck to them,’ says my father, with a 
sigh. 

“ ‘ They ought to be proud of ye,’ says the General. 

‘^^I’m sorry for it,’ says my father, sorrowfully, ‘for maybe 
they’ll keep me the longer.’ 

“ ‘ Well, my good fellow,’ says the General, ‘ I haven’t more 
time to waste here ; but let me teach you something before I go. 
Whenever your officer passes, it’s your duty to present arms to 
him.’ 

“ ‘ Arrah, it’s jokin’ ye are,’ says my father. 

“ ‘ No, I’m in earnest,’ says he, ‘ as ye might learn to your cost, 
if I brought you to a court-martial.’ 

Well, there’s no knowing,’ says my father, ‘ what they’d be 
up to ; but sure if that’s all. I’ll do it with all “ the veins,” when- 
ever yer coming this way again.’ 

“ The General began to laugh again here, but said : — 

“ ‘ I’m coming back in the evening,’ says he, ‘ and mind you 
don’t forget your respect to your officer.’ 

“‘Never fear, sir,’ says my father; ‘and many thanks to you 
for your kindness for telling me.” 

•‘ Away went the General, and the orderly after him, and, in 
ten minutes, they were out of sight. 

“ The night was falling fast, and one half of the mountain was 
quite dark already, when my father began to think they were 
forgetting him entirely. He looked one way, and he looked an- 
other, but sorra bit of a sergeant’s guard was coming to relieve 
him. There he was, fresh and fasting, and daren’t go for the bare 
life. ‘ I’ll give you a quarter of an hour more,’ says my father, 
‘ till the light leaves that rock up there : after that,’ says he, ‘ by 
the mass ! I’ll be off, av it cost me what it may.’ 

“Well, sure enough, his courage was not needed this time; 
for what did he see at the same moment but the shadow of some- 


142 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


thing coming down the road, opposite the bridge; he looked 
again ; and then he made out the General himself, that was walk- 
ing his horse down the steep part of the mountain, followed by 
the orderly. My father immediately took up his musket off the 
wall, settled his belts, shook the ashes out of his pipe, and put it 
into his pocket, making himself as smart and neat looking as he 
could be, determining, when ould Cohoon come up, to ask him for 
leave to go home, at least for the night. Well, by this time, the 
General was turning a sharp part of the cliff that looks down 
upon the bridge, from where you might look five miles round on 
every side. ‘ He sees me,^ says my father ; ^ but Fll be just as 
quick as himself.’ No sooner said than done ; for, coming for- 
ward to the parapet of the bridge, he up with his musket to 
his shoulder, and presented it straight at the General. It wasn’t 
well there, when the officer pulled up his horse quite short, and 
shouted out, ‘ Sentry — sentry !’ 

^ Anan !’ says my father, still covering him. 

Down with your musket, you rascal : don’t you see it’s the 
grand round ?’ 

‘‘‘To be sure I do,’ says my father, never changing for a 
minute. 

“ ‘ The ruffian will shoot me,’ says the General. 

“ ‘ Devil a fear,’ says my father, ‘av it doesn’t go off of itself.’ 

“‘What do you mean by that, you villain?’ says the General, 
scarce able to speak with fright, for every turn he gave on his 
horse my father followed with the gun — 1 What do you mean ?’ 

“ ‘ Sure, ain’t I presenting,’ says my father : ‘ blood an ages, do 
you want me to fire next ?’ 

“ With that the General drew a pistol from his holster, and took 
deliberate aim at my father ; and there they both stood for five 
minutes, looking at each other, the orderly, all the while, breaking 
his heart laughing behind a rock ; for, ye see, the General knew 
av he retreated that my father might fire on purpose, and av he 
came on that he might fire by chance ; and sorra bit he knew 
what was best to be done. 

“ ‘ Are ye going to pass the evening up there. Grand Round ?’ 
says my father, ‘ for it’s tired I’m getting houldin’ this so long ?’ 

“ ‘ Port arms,’ shouted the General, as if on parade. 

“ ‘ Sure I can’t, till yer passed,’ says my father, angrily, ‘ and 
my hand’s trembling already.’ 

“ ‘ By heavens ! I shall be shot,’ says the General. 

“‘Be gorra, it’s what I’m afraid of,’ says my father: and the 
words wasn’t out of his mouth before off went the musket bang, 
and down fell the General smack on the ground senseless. Well^ 
the orderly ran out at this, and took him up and examined his 
wound ; but it wasn’t a wound at all, only the wadding of the 
gun, for my father— God be kind to him— ye see, could do nothing 
right, and so he bit off the wrong end of the cartridge when he 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


143 


put it in the gun, and by reason there was no bullet in it. Well, 
from that day after they never got sight of him, for the instant 
the General dropped, he sprung over the bridge wall, and got 
away ; and what, between living in a lime-kiln for two months, 
eating nothing but blackberries and sloes, and other disguises, 
he never returned to the army, but ever after took to a civil situa- 
tion, and driv a hearse for many years.” 

How far Mike’s narrative might have contributed to the sup- 
port of his theory, I am unable to pronounce ; for his auditory 
were, at some distance from Cork, made to descend from their 
lofty position, and join a larger body of recruits, all proceeding to 
the same destination, under a strong escort of infantry. For our- 
selves, we reached the beautiful city” in due time, and took up 
our quarters at the Old George hotel. 


CHAPTER XXHI. 

CORK. 

The undress rehearsal of a new piece, with its dirty-booted actors, 
its cloak and hooded actresses en papillotCy bears about the same 
relation to the gala, wax-lit and enspangled ballet as the raw young 
gentleman of yesterday to the epauletted, belted, and sabertasched 
dragoon, whose transformation is due to a few hours of head quar- 
ters, and a few interviews with the adjutant. 

So, at least, I felt it ; and it was with a very perfect concurrence 
in his Majesty’s taste in a uniform, and a most entire approval 
of the regimental tailor, that I strutted down George’s-street a 
few days after my arrival in Cork. The transports had not as yet 
come round ; there was a great doubt of their doing so for a week 
or so longer ; and I found myself, as the dashing cornet, the centre 
of a thousand polite attentions and most kind civilities. 

The officer under whose orders I was placed for the time, was 
a great friend of Sir George Dashwood’s, and paid me, in conse- 
quence, much attention. Major Dalrymple had been on the staff 
from the commencement of his military career — had served in the 
commissariat for some time — was much in foreign stations, but 
never, by any of the many casualties of his life, never had seen 
what could be called service. His ideas of the soldier’s profession 
were, therefore, what might almost be as readily picked up by a 
commission in the battle-axe guards, as one in his Majesty’s fiftieth. 
He was now a species of district paymaster, employed in a thou- 
sand ways, either inspecting recruits, examining accounts, revising 
sick certificates, or receiving contracts for mess beef. Whether 


144 


CHARLES o’MALLEr, 


the nature of his manifold occupations had enlarged the sphere of 
his talents and ambition, or whether the abilities had suggested the 
variety of his duties, I know not ; but truly, the Major was a man 
of all work. No sooner did a young ensign join his regiment at 
Cork, than Major Dalrymple’s card was left at his quarters ; the 
next day came the Major himself ; the third brought an invitation 
to dinner ; on the fourth he was told to drop in, in the evening ; 
and from thenceforward, he was the ami de la maison, in company 
with numerous others as newly fledged and inexperienced as him- 
self. 

One singular feature of the society at the, house was that, al- 
though the Major was as well known as the flag on Spike Island, 
yet, somehow, no officer above the rank of an ensign was ever to 
be met with there. It was not that he had not a large acquaintance ; 
in fact, the “ how are you. Major — ^how goes it, Dalrymple,^^ that 
kept everlastingly going on as he walked the streets, proved the 
reverse ; but, strange enough, his predilections leaned towards the 
newly-gazetted, far before the bronzed and seared campaigners 
who had seen the world, and knew more about it. The reasons 
for this line of conduct were twofold ; in the first place, there 
was not an article of outfit, from a stock to a sword-belt, that he 
could not, and did not supply to the young officer ; from the gorget 
of the infantry to the shako of the grenadier, all came Avithin his 
province ; not that he actually kept a magasin of these articles, 
but he had so completely intervoven his interests with those of 
numerous shopkeepers in Cork, that he rarely entered a shop over 
whose door Dalrymple and Co. might not have figured on the sign- 
board. His stables were filled with a perfect infirmary of super- 
annuated chargers, fattened and conditioned up to a miracle, and 
groomed to perfection: he could get you — only you — about three 
dozen of sherry, to take out with you as sea-stor^ : he knew of 
such a servant ; he chanced upon such a camp -furniture yesterday 
in his walks : in fact, why want for any thing ? his resources were 
inexhaustible — ^^his kindness unbounded. 

Then, money was no object — hang it, you could pay when you 
liked — what signified it ? In other words, a bill at thirty-one days, 
cashed and discounted by a friend of the Major’s, Avould always 
do. While such was the unlimited advantage his acquaintance 
conferred, the sphere of his benefits took another range. The 
Major had two daughters : Matilda and Fanny were as well 
known in the army as Lord Fitzroy Somerset or Picton, from the 
Isle of Wight to Halifax, from Cape Coast to Chatham, from Bel- 
fast to the Bermudas. Where was the subaltern who had not 
knelt at the shrine of one or the other, if not of both, and avowed 
eternal love until a change of quarters. In plain words, the 
Major’s solicitude for the service was such, that not content with 
providing the young officer with all the necessary outfit of his 
profession, he longed also to supply him with a comforter for his 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


145 


woes, a charmer for his solitary hours, in the person of one of his 
amiable daughters. Unluckly, however, the necessity for a wife 
is not enforced by “general orders,” as is the cut of your coat, or 
the length of your sabreT; consequently, the Major’s success in the 
home department of his diplomacy was not destined for the same 
happy results that awaited it when engaged about drill trousers 
and camp kettles, and the Misses Dalrymple remained Misses 
through every clime and every campaign. And yet, why' was it 
so ? It is hard to say. What would men have ? Matilda was a 
dark^haired, dark-eyed, romantic-looking girl, with a tall figure and 
a slender waist, with more poetry in her head than would have 
turned an ordinary brain ; always unhappy ; in need of consola- 
tion ; never meeting with the kindred spirit that understood her ; 
destined to walk the world alone, her fair thoughts smothered in 
the recesses of her own heart. Devilish hard to stand this, when 
you began in a kind of platonic friendship on both sides. More 
than one poor fellow nearly succumbed, particularly when she came 
to quote Cowley, and told, with tears in her eyes, 

“ There are hearts that live and love alone,” &c. 

I’m assured that this coup dc grace rarely failed in being followed 
by a downright avowal of open love, which, somehow, what 
between the route coming, what with waiting for leave from 
home, &c., never got farther than a most tender scene, and ex- 
change of love tokens; and, in fact, such became so often the 
termination, that Power swears Matty had to make a firm resolve 
about cutting otf any more hair, fearing a premature baldness 
during the recruiting season. 

Now, Fanny had selected another arm of the service. Her hair 
was fair, her eyes blue, laughing, languishing, mischief-loving 
blue, with long lashes, and a look in them that was wont to leave 
its impression rather longer than you exactly knew of ; then, her 
fi^gure was petite, but perfect ; her feet Canova might have 
copied ; and her hand was a study for Titian ; her voice, too, was 
soft and musical, but full of that gaiete de coeur that never fails 
to charm. While her sister’s style was it penseroso, hers was 
V allegro ; every imaginable thing, place, or person supplied food 
for her mirth, and her sister’s lovers all came in for their share. 
She hunted with Smith Barry’s hounds ; she yachted with the 
Cove Club ; she coursed ; practised at a mark with a pistol ; and 
played chicken hazard with all the cavalry ; for let it be remarked 
as a physiological fact, Matilda’s admirers were almost invariably 
taken from the infantry, while Fanny’s adorers were as regularly 
dragoons. Whether the former be the romantic arm of the ser- 
vice, and the latter be more adapted to dull realities, or whether 
the phenomenon had any other explanation, I leave to the curious. 
Now, this arrangement proceeding upon that principle, which has 
19 N 


146 


CHARLES o’mALLET, 


wrought such wonders in Manchester and Sheffield — the division 
of labour — was a most wise and equitable one, each having her 
own separate and distinct field of action, interference was impos- 
sible ; not but that when, as in the present instance, cavalry was 
in the ascendant, Fanny would willingly spare a dragoon or two 
to her sister, who likewise would repay the debt when occasion 
, offered. 

The mamma — for it is time I should say something of the head 
of the family — was an excessively fat, coarse-looking, dark-skinned 
personage, of some fifty years, with a voice like a boatswain in a 
quinsey. Heaven can tell, perhaps, why the worthy Major allied 
his fortunes with hers, for she was evidently of a very inferior 
rank in society; could never have been aught than downright 
ugly; and I never heard that she brought him any money. 
Spoiled five, the national amusement of her age and sex in Cork, 
scandal, the changes in the army list, the failures in speculation 
of her luckless husband, the forlorn fortunes of the girls, her 
daughters, kept her in occupation, and her days were passed in 
one perpetual unceasing current of dissatisfaction and ill temper 
with all around, that formed a heavy counterpoise to the fascina- 
tions of the young ladies. The repeated jiltings to which they 
had been subject had blunted any delicacy upon the score of their 
marriage, and, if the newly introduced cornet or ensign was not 
coming forward, as became him, at the end of the requisite num- 
ber of days, he was sure of receiving a very palpable admonition 
from Mrs. Dalrymple. Hints, at first, dimly shadowed that Ma- 
tilda was not in spirits this morning ; that Fanny, poor child, had 
a head-ache — directed especially at the culprit in question, grew 
gradually into those little motherly fondnesses in mamma, that, 
like the fascinations of the rattle-snake, only lure on to ruin. The 
doomed man was pressed to dinner when all others were permit- 
ted to take their leave ; he was treated like one of the family, God 
help him ! After dinner, the Major would keep him an hour 
over his wine, discussing the misery of an ill-assorted marriage, 
detailing his own happiness in marrying a woman like the Tonga 
Islander I have mentioned ; hinting that girls should be brought 
up, not only to become companions to their husbands, but with 
ideas fitting their station ; if his auditor were a military man, that 
none but an old officer (like him) could know how to educate 
girls (like his) ; and that, feeling he possessed two such treasures, 
his whole aim in life was to guard and keep them, a difficult task, 
when proposals of the most flattering kind were coming con- 
stantly before him. Then followed a fresh bottle, during which 
the Major would consult his young friend upon a very delicate 
affair, no less than a proposition for the hand of Miss Matilda, or 
Fanny, whichever he was supposed to be soft upon. This was 
generally a cowp de maitre. Should he still resist, he wa§ handed 
over to Mrs. Dalrymple, with a strong indictment against him, 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


147 


and rarely did he escape a heavy sentence. Now, is it not 
strange, that two really pretty girls, with fully enough of amiable 
and pleasing qualities to have excited the attention and won the 
affection of many a man, should have gone on for years — for, 
alas ! they did so in every climate, under every sun — ^to waste 
their sweetness in this miserable career of intrigue and mantrap, 
and yet nothing come of it ? But so it was : the first question a 
newly-landed regiment was asked, if coming from where they 
resided, was, Well, how are the girls Oh, gloriously. 

Matty is there.’’ Ah, indeed! poor thing.” Has Fan sported 
a new habit?” ^Ms it the old gray with the hussar braiding? 
confound it, that was seedy when I saw them in Corfu. And 
mother Dal. as . fat and vulgar as ever. Dawson of ours was the 
last, and was called up for sentence when we were ordered away : 
of course, he bolted,” &c. Such was the invariable style of 
question and answer concerning them ; and, although some few, 
either from good feeling or fastidiousness, relished but little the 
mode in which it had become habitual to treat them, I grieve to 
say that, generally, they were pronounced fair game for every 
species -of flirtation and love-making without any “ intentions” 
for the future. I should not have trespassed so far upon my 
readers’ patience, were I not, in recounting these traits of my 
friends above, narrating matters of history. How many are there 
who may cast their eyes upon these pages, that will say, ‘‘ Poor 
Matilda, I knew her at Gibraltar. Little Fanny was the life and 
soul of us all in Quebec.” 

“ Mr. O’Malley,” said the Adjutant, as I presented myself in 
the afternoon of my arrival in Cork, to a short punchy little red- 
faced gentleman, in a short jacket and ducks, ‘‘you are, I per- 
ceive, appointed to the 14th; you will have the goodness to 
appear on parade to-morrow morning. The riding-school hours 

are . The morning drill is 

evening drill . Mr. Minchin, you are a 14th man, 

I believe; no, I beg pardon, a Carbineer, but no matter — Mr. 
O’Malley, Mr. Minchin, Captain Dounie, Mr. O’Malley : you’ll 
dine with us to-day, and to-morrow you shall be entered at the 
mess.” 

“ Yours are at Santarem, I believe,” said an old weather-beaten 
looking officer with one arm. 

“ Pm ashamed to say, I know nothing whatever of them ; I re- 
ceived my gazette unexpectedly enough.” 

“ Ever in Cork before, Mr. O’Malley ?” 

“ Nevmr,” said I. 

“ Glorious place,” lisped a white eyelashed, knocker-kneed 
ensign ; “ splendid gals, eh ?” 

“ Ah, Brunton,” said Minchin, “you may boast a little ; but we 
poor devils.” 

“ Know the Dais ?” said the hero of the lisp, addressing me. 


148 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


I haven’t that honour,” I replied, scarcely able to guess whe- 
ther Avhat he alluded to were objects of the picturesque, or a private 
family. 

Introduce him then, at once,” said the Adjutant ; “ we’ll all go 
in the evening. What will the old squaw think ?” 

Not I,” said Minchin ; “she wrote to the Duke of York about 
my helping Matilda at supper, and not having any honourable 
intentions afterwards.” 

“We dine at ^ The George’ to-day, Mr. O’Malley, sharp seven; 

until then .” So saying, the little man bustled back to his 

accounts, and I took my leave with the rest, to stroll about the 
town till dinner time. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE adjutant’s DINNER. 

The Adjutant’s dinner was as professional an affair as need be. 
A circuit or a learned society could not have been more exclusively 
devoted to their own separate and immediate topics, than were 
we ; pipeclay in all its varieties came on the tapis — the last regu- 
lation cap — the new button — the promotions — the general orders 
— the colonel, and the colonel’s wife — stoppages, and the mess 
fund, were all well and ably discussed; and, strange enough, 
while the conversation took this wide range, not a chance allusion, 
not one stray hint ever wandered to the brave fellows who were 
covering the army with glory in the Peninsula, nor one souvenir 
of him that was even then enjoying a fame, as a leader, second to 
none in Europe. This surprised me not a little at the time ; but I 
have, since that, learned how little interest the real services of an 
army possess for the ears of certain officials, who, stationed at 
home quarters^ pass their inglorious lives in the details of drill, 
parade, mess-room gossip, and barrack scandal : such, in fact, were 
the dons of the present dinner. We had a commissary-general, 
an inspecting brigade -major of something, a physician to the 
forces, the adjutant himself, and Major Dalrymple ; ikvQ oi poUoi 
consisting of the raw ensign, a newly fledged cornet, Mr. Sparks, 
and myself. 

The commissary told some very pointless stories about his own 
department ; the doctor read a dissertation upon AValcheren fever ; 
the adjutant got very stupidly tipsy, and Major Dalrymple suc- 
ceeded in engaging the three juniors of the party to tea, having 
previously pledged us to purchase nothing whatever of outfit, 
without his advice ; he well knowing (which he did) how young 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


149 


fellows like us were cheated, and resolving to be a father to uS 
(which he certainly tried to be.) 

As we rose from the table about ten o’clock, I felt how soon a 
few such dinners would succeed in disenchanting me of all my 
military illusions ; for, young as I was, I saw that the commissary 
was a vulgar bore ; the doctor a humbug ; the adjutant a sot, and 
the major himself, I greatly suspected to be an old rogue. 

You are coming with us. Sparks,” said Major Dalrymple, as 
he took me by one arm and the ensign by the other ; we are 
going to have a little tea with the ladies — not five minutes’ 
walk.” 

Most happy, sir,” said Mr. Sparks, with a very flattered ex- 
pression of countenance. 

O’Malley, you know Sparks, and Burton too.” This served 
for a species of triple introduction, at which we all bowed, sim- 
pered, and bowed again ; we were very happy to have the plea- 
sure, &c. 

How pleasant to get away from these fellows !” said the ma- 
jor; “ they are so uncommonly prosy : that commissary with his 
mess-beef, and old Pritchard with black doses and rigours ; nothing 
so insutferable. Besides, in reality, a young officer never needs 
all that nonsense : a little medicine chest ; Pll get you one each 
to-morrow for five pounds ; no, five pounds ten ; the same thing — 
that will see you all through the Peninsula. Remind me of it in 
the morning.” This we all promised to do, and the major re- 
sumed, “ I say. Sparks, you’ve got a real prize in that gray horse, 
such a trooper as he is. O’Malley, you’ll be wanting something 
of that kind, if we can find it out for you.” 

Many thanks, major, but my cattle are on the way here 
already : Pve only three horses, but I think they are tolerably 
good ones.” 

The major now turned to Burton, and said something in a low 
tone, to which the other replied, “ Why, if you say so, Pll get it ; 
but it’s devilish dear.” 

Dear, my young friend ? cheap, dog cheap.” 

“ Only think, O’Malley, a whole brass bed, camp-stool, basin- 
stand, all complete, for sixty pounds : if it was not that a widow 
was disposing of it in great distress, one hundred could not buy it. 
Here we are ; come along ; no ceremony — mind the two steps ; 
that’s it. Mrs. Dalrymple, Mr. O’Malley ; Mr. Sparks, Mr. Bur- 
ton, my daughters. Is tea over, girls ?” 

Why, papa, it’s near eleven o’clock,” said Fanny, as she rose 
to ring the bell, displaying, in so doing, the least possible portion 
of a very well-turned ankle. 

Miss Matilda Dal. laid down her book ; but, seemingly lost in 
abstraction, did not deign to look at us. Mrs. Dalrymple, how- 
ever, did the honours with much politeness ; and having, by a few 
adroit and well-put queries ascertained every thing concerning our 

N 2 


150 CHARLES o’mALLEY, 

rank and position, seemed perfectly satisfied that our intrusion was 
justifiable. 

While my confrere, Mr. Sparks, was undergoing his examina- 
tion, I had time to look at the ladies, whom I was much surprised 
at finding so very well looking ; and, as the ensign had opened a 
conversation with Fanny, I approached my chair towards the 
other, and, having carelessly turned over the leaves of the book 
she had been reading, drew her on to talk of it. As my acquaint- 
ance with young ladies hitherto had been limited to those who had 
“ no soul,” I felt some difficulty at first in keeping up with the 
exalted tone of my fair companion ; but, by letting her take the 
lead for some time, I got to know more of the ground. We went 
on tolerably together, every moment increasing my stock of tech- 
nicals, which were all that was needed to sustain the conversation ; 
how often have I found the same plan succeed — whether discuss- 
ing a question of law or medicine — with a learned professor of 
either ; or, what is still more difficult, canvassing the merits of a 
preacher, or a doctrine, with a' serious young lady, whose blessed 
privileges” were at first a little puzzling to comprehend. 

I so contrived it, too, that Miss Matilda should seem as much 
to be making a convert to her views as to have found a person 
capable of sympathizing with her, and thus long before the little 
supper, with which it was the Major’s practice to regale his 
friends every evening, made its appearance, we had established a 
perfect understanding together, a circumstance that, a bystander 
might have remarked, was productive of a more widely -diffused 
satisfaction than I could have myself seen any just cause for. 
Mr. Burton was also progressing, as the Yankees say, with the sister. 
Sparks had booked himself as purchaser of military stores enough 
to make the campaign of the whole globe, and then we were all 
evidently fulfilling our various vocations, and aff'ording perfect 
satisfaction to our entertainers. 

Then came the spatch-cock, and the sandwitches, and the 
negus, which Fanny first mixed for papa, and, subsequently, with 
some little pressing, for Mr. Burton; Matilda the romantic assisted 
me. Sparks helped himself ; then we laughed, and told stories ; 
pressed Sparks to sing, which, as he declined, we only pressed the 
more. How invariably, by the bye, is it the custom to show 
one’s appreciation of any thing like a butt, by pressing him for 
a song. The Major was in great spirits, told us anecdotes of his 
early life in India, and how he once contracted to supply the 
troops with milk, and made a purchase in consequence of some 
score of cattle, which turned out to be bullocks. Matilda recited 
some lines from Pope in my ear, Fanny challenged Burton to a 
rowing match, Sparks listened to all around him, and Mrs. Dal- 
rymple mixed a very little weak punch, which Dr. Lucas had 
recommended to her, to take the last thing at night. Nodes 
ccenseque deoriim. Say what you will, these were very jovial 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


151 


little reunions. The girls were decidedly very pretty; we were 
in high favour, and, when we took leave at the door, with a very 
cordial shake hands, it was with no arriere pens^e, we promised 
to see them in the morning. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE ENTANGLEMENT. 

When we think for a moment over all the toils, all the anx- 
ieties, all the fevered excitement of a grande passion, it is not a 
little singular that love should so frequently be elicited by a state 
of mere idleness; and yet nothing, after all, is so predisposing 
a cause as this. Where is the man between eighteen and eight- 
and-thirty — might I not say forty? — who, without any very press- 
ing duns, and having no taste for strong liquor and rouge et noir, 
can possibly lounge through the long hours of his day, without, 
at least, fancying himself in love. The thousand little occupa- 
tions it suggests, become a necessity of existence ; its very worries 
are like the wholesome opposition that purifies and strengthens 
the frame of a free state. Then, what is there half so sweet 
as the reflective flattery which results from our appreciation of an 
object who, in return, deems us the ne plus ultra of perfection ? 
There it is, in fact : that confounded bump of self-esteem does 
it all, and has more imprudent matches to answer for than all 
the occipital protuberances that ever scared poor Harriet Mar- 
tineau. 

Now, to apply my moralizing. T very soon, to use the mess 
phrase, got devilish spoony about the ^^Dals.” The morning 
drill, the riding school, and the parade were all most fervently 
consigned to a certain military character that shall be nameless, 
as detaining me from some appointment made the evening before ; 
for, as I supped there each night, a party of one kind or another 
was always planned for the day following. Sometimes we had 
a boating excursion to Cove ; sometimes a pic-nic at Foaty ; now, 
a rowing party to Glanmire, or a ride, at which I furnished the 
cavalry. These doings were all under my especial direction, and 
I thus became speedily the organ of the Dalrymple family ; and 
the simple phrase, ‘‘ it was Mr. O’Malley’s arrangement,” Mr. 
O’Malley wished it,” was like the moi le roV^ of Louis XIV. 

Though al] this while we continued to carry on most pleasantly, 
Mrs. Dalrymple, I could perceive, did not entirely sympathize 
with our projects of amusement. As an experienced engineer 
might feel, when watching the course of some storming projectile — 


152 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


some brilliant congreve — flying over a besieged fortress, yet never 
touching the walls, nor harming the inhabitants, so she looked on 
at all these demonstrations of attack with no small impatience, 
and wondered when would the breach be reported practicable. 
Another puzzle also contributed its share of anxiety — which of 
the girls was it } To be sure, he spent three hours every morning 
with Fanny ; but then he never left Matilda the whole evening. 
He had given his miniature to one ; a locket with his hair was 
a present to the sister. The Major thinks he saw his arm round 
Matilda’s waist in the garden ; the house-maid swears she saw 
him kiss Fanny in the pantry. Matilda smiles when we talk of 
his name with her sister’s ; Fanny laughs outright, and says, 
/^Poor Matilda, the man never dreamed of her.” This is be- 
coming uncomfortable ; the Major must ask his intentions : it is, 
certainly, one or the other ; but, then, we have a right to know 
which. Such was a very condensed view of Mrs. Dalrymple’s 
reflections on this important topic — a view taken with her usual 
tact and clear-sightedness. 

Matters were in this state, when Power at length arrived in 
Cork, to take command of our detachment, and make the final 
preparations for our departure. I had been, as usual, spending 
the evening at the Major’s, and had just reached my quarters, 
when I found my friend sitting at my fire, smoking his cigar, and 
solacing himself with a little brandy and water. 

At last,” said he, as I entered, at last ! — why, where the 
deuse have you been till this hour — past two o’clock ? There is 
no ball, no assembly going on, eh ?” 

No,” said I, half blushing at the eagerness of the inquiry ; 

Pve been spending the evening with a friend.” 

Spending the evening ! say rather the night. Why, confound 
you, man, what is there in Cork to keep you out of bed till near 
three ?” 

Well, if you must know, Pve been supping at a Major Dalrym- 
ple’s — a devilish good fellow — with two such daughters !” 

Ahem !” said Power, shutting one eye knowingly, and giving 
a look like a Yorkshire horse-dealer ; go on.” 

“ Why, what do you mean ?” 

“ Go on — continue.” 

Pve finished — Pve nothing more to tell.” 

So they’re here, are they ?” said he, reflectingly. 

“Who?” said I. 

“ Matilda and Fanny, to be sure.” 

“ Why, you know them, then ?” 

“ I should think I do.” 

“ Where have you met them ?” 

“Where have I not? When I was in the rifles, they were 
quartered at Zante. Matilda was just then coming it rather 
strong with Villiers of ours, a regular green-horn. Fanny, also, 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


153 


nearly did for Harry Nesbit, by riding a hurdle-race. Then they 
left for Gibraltar in the year — what year was it ? ” 

“ Come, come,’’ said I, this' is a humbug : the girls are quite 
young ; you just have heard their names.” 

‘‘ Well, perhaps so ; only tell me which is your peculiar weak- 
ness, as they say in the west, and maybe I’ll convince you.” 

. “ Oh ! as to that,” said I, laughing, “ I’m not very far gone on 

either side.” 

Then Matilda, probably, has not tried you with Cowley, eh ? — 
You look a little pink — ‘ There are hearts that live and love alone.’ 
Oh, poor fellow, you’ve got it. By Jove, how you’ve been coming 
it though in ten days. She ought not to have got to that for a 
month, at least ; and how like a young one it was to be caught 
by the poetry. Oh ! Master Charley, I thought that the steeple- 
chaser might have done most with your Galway heart : the girl in 
the gray habit that sings Muddi-dero ought to have been the prize. 
Halt ! by St. George, but that tickles you also ! Why, zounds, if 
I go on, probably, at this rate. I’ll find a tender spot occupied by the 
‘ black lady herself.’ ” 

It was no use concealing, or attempting to conceal, any thing 
from my inquisitive friend ; so I mixed my grog, and opened my 
whole heart ; told how I had been conducting myself for the entire 
preceding fortnight, and when I concluded, sat silently awaiting 
Power’s verdict, as though a jury were about to pronounce upon 
my life. 

Have you ever written ?” 

“ Never, except, perhaps, a few lines with tickets for the theatre, 
or something of that kind.” 

“ Have you copies of your correspondence ?” 

Of course not. Why, what do you mean ?” 

Has Mrs. Dal. been ever present, or, as the French say, has she 
assisted at any of your tender interviews with the young ladies ?” 

“ I’m not aware that one kisses a girl before mamma.” 

I’m not speaking of that ; I merely allude to flirtation.” 

‘^Oh ! I suppose she has seen me attentive.” 

“Very awkward, indeed! There is only one point in your 
favour ; for, as your attentions were not decided, and as the law 
does not, as yet, permit polygamy ” 

“Come, come, you know I never thought of marrying.” 

“ Ah ! but they did.” 

“ Not a hit of it.” 

“ Ay, but they did. What do you wager but that the Major 
asks your intentions, as he calls it, the moment he hears the trans- 
port has arrived ?” 

“ By Jove, now you remind me, he asked this evening when he 
could have a few minutes’ private conversation with me to-morrow ; 
and I thought it was about some confounded military chest, or sea- 
store, or one of his infernal contrivances that he every day assures 
20 


154 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


me are indispensable ; though, if every officer had only as much 
baggage as I have got, under his directions, it would take two 
armies, at least, to carry the effects of the fighting one.’’ 

Poor fellow!” said he, starting upon his legs, “ what a burst 
you’ve made of it !” So saying, he began in a nasal twang — 

“ I publish the banns of marriage between Charles O’Malley, of 
his late Majesty’s fourteenth dragoons, and Dalrymple, spin- 
ster, of this cit}^ ” 

“ I’ll be hanged if you do, though,” said I, seeing pretty clearly 
by this time something of the estimation my friends were held in. 
“Come, Power, pull me through, like a dear fellow, pull me 
through without doing any thing to hurt the girl’s feelings.” 

“ Well, we’ll see about it,” said he ; “ we’ll see about it in the 
morning ; but, at the same time, let me assure you, the affair is not 
so easy as you may, at first blush, suppose. These worthy people 
have been so often ‘ done,’ to use the cant phrase, before, that 
scarcely a rust remains untried. It is of no use pleading that your 
family won’t consent — that your prospects are null — that you are 
ordered for India — that you are engaged elsewhere — that you have 
nothing but your pay — that you are too young, or too old : all 
such reasons, good and valid with any other family, will avail you 
little here. Neither will it serve your cause that you may be war- 
rantedby a doctor as subject to periodical fits of insanity ; monoma- 
niacal tendencies to cut somebody’s throat, &c. Bless your heart, 
man, they have a soul above such littlenesses. They care nothing 
for consent of friends, means, age, health, climate, prospects, or 
temper. Firmly believing matrimony to be a lottery, they are not 
superstitious about the number they pitch upon ; provided only 
that they get a ticket, they are content.” 

“ Then, it strikes me, if what you say is correct, that I have no 
earthly chance of escape, except some kind friend will undertake 
to shoot me.” 

“ That has been also tried.” 

“ Why, how do you mean ?” 

“ A mock duel got up at mess ; we had one at Malta. Poor 
Vickers was the hero of that affair. It was right well planned too. 
One of the letters was suffered by mere accident to fall into Mrs. 
Dal.’s hands, and she was quite prepared for the event when he 
was reported shot the next morning. Then, the young lady, of 
course, whether she cared or not, was obliged to be perfectly un- 
concerned, lest the story of engaged affections might get wind, and 
spoil another market. The thing went on admirably, till one day, 
some few months later, they saw, in a confounded army list, 
that the late George Vickers was promoted to the eighteenth 
dragoons, so that the trick was discovered, and is, of course, stale 
at present.” 

“ Then could I not have a wife already, and a large family of 
interesting babes ?” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


155 


“ No go — only swell the damages when they come to prosecute; 
besides, your age and looks forbid the assumption of such a fact. 
No, no, we must go deeper to work.” 

But where shall we go ?” said I, impatiently ; for it appears 
to me, these good people have been treated to every trick and 
subterfuge that ever ingenuity suggested.” 

“ Come, I think I have it ; but it will need a little more reflec- 
tion. So, now, let us to bed. Pll give you the result of my 
lucubrations at breakfast ; and, if I mistake not, we may get you 
through this witliout any ill consequences. Good night, then, 
old boy ; and now dream away of your lady love till our next 
meeting.” 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE PREPARATION. 

To prevent needless repetitions in my story, I shall not record 
here the conversation which passed between my friend Power and 
myself, on the morning following, at breakfast : suffice it to say, 
that the plan proposed by him for my rescue, was one I agreed to 
adopt, reserving to myself, in case of failure, a pis aller of which 
I knew not the meaning, but of whose efficacy Power assured me 
I need not doubt. 

“ If all fail,” said he ; “ if every bridge break down beneath 
you, and no road of escape be left, why, then, I believe you 
must have recourse to another alternative. Still I should wish 
to avoid it, if possible ; and I put it to you, in honour, not 
to employ it unless as a last expedient : you promise me 
this ?” 

Of course,” said I, with great anxiety for the dreaded final 
measure. “ What is it ?” 

He paused, smiled dubiously, and resumed: “And, after all; 
but, to be sure, there will not be need for it; the other plan 
will do — must do. Come, come, O’Malley, the Admiralty say, 
that nothing encourages drowning in the navy like a life buoy; 
the men have such a prospect of being picked up, that they don’t 
mind falling overboard : so if I give you this life preserver of 
mine, you’ll not swim an inch ; is it not so ? eh ?” 

“ Far from it,” said I ; “ I shall feel in honour bound to exert 
myself the more, because I now see how much it costs you to 
part with it.” 

“Well, then, hear it: when every thing fails, when all your 
resources are exhausted; when you have totally lost your memory 


156 


CHARLES o’jVIALLEr, 


in fact, and your ingenuity in excuses, say — but mind, Charley, 
not till then — say, that you must consult your friend. Captain 
Power, of the 14th; thaCs all.’’ 

“ And is this it ?” said I, quite disappointed at the lame ♦and 
impotent conclusion to all the high sounding exordium ; is this 
all?” 

Yes,” said he, “ that is all; but stop, Charley, is not the Major 
crossing the street there ? yes, to be sure it is, and, by Jove, he 
has got on the old braided frock this morning ; had you not told 
me one word of your critical position, I should have guessed there 
was something in the wind from that : that same vestment has 
caused many a stout heart to tremble, that never quailed before a 
shot or shell.” 

“ How can that be ? I should like to hear.” 

« Why, my dear boy, that’s his explanation coat, as we called 
it at Gibraltar ; he was never known to wear it except when ask- 
ing some poor fellow’s ^ intentions.’ He would no more think of 
sporting it as an every-day affair, than the chief justice would go 
cock-shooting in his black cap and ermine. Come, he is bound 
for your quarters, and, as it will not answer our plans to let him 
see you now, you had better hasten down stairs, and get round 
by the back way into George’s-street, and you’ll be at his house 
before he can return.” 

Following Power’s directions, I seized my foraging-cap, and 
got clear out of the premises before the major had reached them. 
It was exactly noon as I sounded my loud and now well-known 
summons at the Major’s knocker : the door was quickly opened, 
but, instead of dashing up stairs, four steps at a time, as was my 
wont, to the drawing-room, I turned short into the dingy-looking 
little parlour on the right, and desired Matthew, the venerable 
servitor of the house, to say that I wished particularly to see 
Mrs. Dalrymple for a few minutes, if the hour were not incon- 
venient. 

There was something perhaps of excitement in my manner — 
some flurry in my look, or some trepidation in my voice — or, per- 
haps, it was the unusual hour — or the still more remarkable cir- 
cumstance of my not going at once to the drawing-room, that 
raised some doubts in Matthew’s mind as to the object of my 
visit, and, instead of at once complying with my request to inform 
Mrs. Dalrymple that I was there, he cautiously closed the door, 
and, taking a quick but satisfactory glance round the apartment, 
to assure himself that we were alone, he placed his back against 
it, and heaved a deep sigh. 

We were both perfectly silent ; I in total amazement at what 
the old man could possibly mean : he, following up the train of 
his own thoughts, comprehended little or nothing of my surprise, 
and evidently was so engrossed by his reflections, that he had 
neither ears nor eyes for aught around him. There was a most 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


157 


singular semi-comic expression in the old withered face, that 
nearly made me laugh at first; but, as I continued to look 
steadily at it, I perceived that, despite the long worn wrinkles 
that low Irish drollery and fun had furrowed around the angles 
of his mouth, the real character of his look was one of sorrowful 
compassion. 

Doubtless, my readers have read many interesting narratives, 
wherein the unconscious traveller in some remote land has been 
warned of a plan to murder him, by some mere passing wink, 
a look, a sign, which some on^, less steeped in crime, less hardened 
in iniquity than his fellows, iias ventured for his rescue. Some- 
times, according to the taste of the narrator, the interesting indi- 
vidual is an old woman, sometimes a young one ; sometimes a 
black-bearded bandit, sometimes a child, and, not unfrequently, a 
dog is humane enough to do this service. One thing, however, 
never varies ; be the agent biped or quadruped, dumb or speech- 
ful, young or old, the stranger invariably takes the hint, and gets 
off scot free, for his sharpness. This never varying trick on the 
doomed man, I had often been skeptical enough to suspect ; how- 
ever, I had not been many minutes a spectator of the old man’s 
countenance when I most thoroughly recanted my errors, and 
acknowledged myself wrong. If ever the look of a man conveyed 
a warning, his did ; but there was more in it than even that : there 
was a tone of sad and pitiful compassion, such as an old gray- 
bearded rat might be supposed to put on at seeing a young and 
inexperienced one opening the hinge of an iron trap, to try its effi- 
cacy upon his neck. Many a little occasion had presented itself, 
during my intimacy with the family, of doing Matthew some small 
services, of making him some trifling presents ; so that, when he 
assumed before me the gesture and look I have mentioned, I was 
not long in deciphering his intentions. 

Matthew,” screamed a sharp voice, which I recognised at 
once for that of Mrs. Dalrymple. Matthew ! where is the old 
fool ?” 

But Matthew heard not, or heeded not. 

“ Matthew, Matthew, I say.” 

Fm cornin’, ma’am,” said he, with a sigh, as, opening the par- 
iour-door, he turned upon me one look of such import, that only the 
nrcumstances of my story can explaiji its force, or my reader’s 
own ingenious imagination can supply. 

Never fear, my good old friend,” said I, grasping his hand 
warmly, and leaving a guinea in the palm : never fear.” 

God grant it, sir,” said he, settling on his wig in preparation 
for his appearance in the drawing-room. 

Matthew ! the old wretch.” 

Mr. O’Malley,” said the often-called Matthew, as, opening the 
door, he announced me unexpectedly among the ladies there 

0 


158 


CHARLES O^MALLET, 


assembled, who, not hearing of my approach, were evidently not 
a little surprised and astonished. 

Had I really been the enamoured swain that the Dalrympl^ 
family were willing to believe, I half suspect that the prospect be- 
fore me might have cured me of my passion. A round bullet 
papillotee with the Cork Observer,^’ where still-born babes 
and maids of all work were descanted upon in very legible type, 
was now the substitute for the classic front and Kalian ringlets of 
la belle Matilda ; while the chaste Fanny herself, whose feet had 
been a fortune for a statuary, was in the most slatternly and slip- 
shod attire, pacing the room in a towering rage at some thing, 
place, or person, unknown (to me.) If the ballet master at the 
academie could only learn to get his imps, demons, angels, and 
goblins off ” half as rapidly as the two young ladies retreated on 
my being announced, I answer for the piece so brought out having 
a run for half the season. Before my eyes had regained their posi- 
tion parallel to the plane of the horizon, they were gone, and I 
found myself alone with Mrs. Dairy mple. Now, she stood her 
ground, partly to cover the retreat of the main body, partly, too, 
because — representing the baggage wagons, ammunition stores, 
hospital staff, &c. — her retirement from the field demanded more 
time and circumspection than the light brigade. 

Let not my readers suppose, that the mere Dalrymple was so 
perfectly faultless in costume that her remaining was a matter 
of actual indifference : far from it. She evidently had a struggle 
for it ; but a sense of duty decided her ; and, as Ney doggedly 
held back to cover the retreating forces on the march from Mos- 
cow, so did she resolutely lurk behind till the last fiutter of the last 
petticoat assured her that the fugitives were safe. Then did she 
hesitate for a moment what course to take ; but, as I assumed my 
chair beside her, she composedly sat down, and, crossing her hands 
before her, waited for an explanation of this ill-timed visit. 

Had the Horse Guards, in the plenitude of their power and 
the perfection of their taste, ordained that the 79th and 42d regi- 
ments should, in future, in lieu of their respective tartans, wear 
flannel kilts and black worsted hose, I could readily have fallen 
into the error of mistaking Mrs. Dalrymple for a Highlander in 
the new regulation dress ; the philabeg finding no mean repre- 
sentation in a capacious pincushion that hung down from her 
girdle, while a pair of shears, not scissors, corresponded to the 
dirk. After several ineffectual efforts upon her part, to make her 
vestment (I know not its fitting designation) cover more of her 
logs than its length could possibly effect, and, after some most 
bland smiles and half blushes, at dishabille, &c., were over, and 
that I had apologized most humbly for the unusually early hour 
of rny call, I proceeded to open my negotiations, and unfurl my 
banner for the fray. 

“ The old Racehorse has arrived at last,” said I, with a half 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


159 


sigh ; and I believe that we shall not obtain a very long time for 
our leave-taking ; so that, trespassing upon your very great kind- 
ness, I have ventured upon an early call.” 

“ The Racehorse surely can’t sail to-morrow,” said Mrs. Dalrym- 
ple, whose experience of such matters made her a very competent 
judge ; her stores ” 

Are taken in already,” said I, and an order from the Horse 
Guards commands us to embark in twenty-four hours ; so that, in 
fact, we scarcely have time to look about us.” 

“ Have you seen the Major ?” inquired Mrs. Dalrymple, eagerly. 

Not to-day,” I replied, carelessly ; but, of course, during the 
morning we are sure to meet ; I have many thanks yet to give 
him for all his most kind attentions.” 

I know he is most anxious to see you,” said Mrs. Dalrymple, 
with a very peculiar emphasis, and evidently desiring that I should 
inquire the reason of this anxiety. I, however, most heroically 
forbore indulging my curiosity, and added, that I should endeavour 
to find him on my way to the barracks ; and then, hastily looking 
at my watch, I pronounced it a full hour later than it really was, 
and promising to spend the evening — my last evening with them — 
I took my leave, and hurried away, in no small flurry, to be once 
more out of reach of Mrs. Dalrymple’s fire, which I every moment 
expected to open upon me. 



I 


160 


CHARLES O^MALLETj 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE SUPPER. 

Power and I dined together tUe-h-tete at the hotel, and sat 
chatting over my adventures with the Dalrymples, till nearly nine 
o’clock. 

Come, Charley,” said he, at length, “ I see your eye wander- 
ing very often towards the time-piece, another bumper, and Pll 
let you off. ' What shall it be ?” 

“ What you like,” said I, upon whom three bottles of strong 
claret had already made a very satisfactory impression. 

“ Then champagne for the coiip-de-grace. Nothing like your 
vin mousseux for a critical moment ; every bubble that rises 
sparkling to the surface prompts some bright thought, or elicits 
some brilliant idea, that would only have been drowned in your 
more sober fluids. Here’s to the girl vou love, whoever she 
be.” 

To her bright eyes then be it,” said I, clearing off a brimming 
goblet of nearly half the bottle, while my friend Power seemed 
multiplied into any given number of gentlemen standing amid 
something like a glass manufactory of decanters. 

I hope you feel steady enough for this business,” said my 
friend, examining me closely with the candle. 

I’m an archdeacon,” muttered I, with one eye involuntarily 
closing. 

You’ll not let them double on you.” 

Trust me, old boy,” said I, endeavouring to look knowing. 

“ I think you’ll do,” said he : so now march ; I’ll wait for 
you here, and we’ll go on board together ; for old Bloater, the 
skipper, says he’ll certainly weigh by daybreak.” 

“ Till then,” said I, as opening the door, I proceeded very 
cautiously to descend the stairs, affecting all the time consider- 
able nonchalance^ and endeavouring, as well as my thickened 
utterance would permit^ to hum, “ Oh ! love is the soul of an Irish 
dragoon.” 

If I was not in the most perfect possession of my faculties 
in the house, the change to the open air, certainly, but little con- 
tributed to their restoration, and I scarcely felt myself in the 
street when my brain became absolutely one whirl of maddened 
and confused excitement. Time and space are nothing to a man 
thus enlightened, and so they appeared to me ; scarcely a second 
had elapsed when I found myself standing in the Dalrymples’ 
drawing-room. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


161 


If a few hours had done much to metamorphose me^ certes, 
they had done something for my fair friends also : any thing more 
unlike what they appeared in the morning can scarcely be ima- 
gined, Matilda in black, with her hair in heavy madonna bands 
upon her fair cheek, now paler even than usual, never seemed 
so handsome ; while Fanny, in a light blue dress, with blue 
flowers in her hair, and a blue sash, looked the most lovely piece 
of coquetry ever man set his eyes upon. The old Major too was 
smartened up, and put into an old regimental coat that he had 
worn during the siege of Gibraltar; and lastly, Mrs. Dalrymple 
herself was attired in a very imposing costume, that made her, 
to my not over accurate judgment, look very like an elderly 
bishop in a flame-coloured cassock. Sparks was the only stranger, 
and wore upon his countenance, as I entered, a look of very con- 
siderable embarrassment, that even my thick-sightedness could not 
fail of detecting. 

Parlez moi de Vamitie, my friends. Talk to me of the warm 
embrace of your earliest friend, after years of absence ; the cor- 
dial and heartfelt shake-hands of your old school companion when, 
in after years, a chance meeting has brought you together, and 
you have had time and opportunity for becoming distinguished 
and in repute, and are rather a good hit to be known to, than 
otherwise; of the close grip you give your second when he comes 
up to say, that the gentleman with the loaded detonator opposite,' 
won’t fire — that he feels he’s in the wrong. Any or all of these 
together, very effective and powerful though they be, are light in 
the balance, when compared with the two-handed compression 
you receive from the gentleman that expects you to marry one of 
his daughters. 

My dear O’Malley, how goes it ? Thought you’d never 
come,” said he, still holding me fast and looking me full in the 
face, to calculate the extent to which my potations rendered his 
flattery feasible. 

Hurried to death with preparations, I suppose,” said Mrs. 
Dalrymple, smiling blandly : “ Fanny, dear, some tea for him.” 

Oh, mamma, he does not like all that sugar ; surely not,” said 
she, looking up with a most sweet expression, as though to say, 
‘‘ I at least know his tastes.” 

believed you were going without seeing us,” whispered 
Matilda, with a very glassy look about the corner of her eyes. 

Eloquence was not just then my forte, so that I contented my- 
self with a very intelligible look at Fanny, and a tender squeeze 
of Matilda’s hand, as I seated myself at the table. 

Scarcely had I placed myself at the tea-table with Matilda 
beside, and Fanny opposite me, each vying with the other in 
their delicate and kind attentions, when I totally forgot all my 
poor friend Power’s injunctions and directions for my manage- 
ment. It is true, I remembered that there was a scrape of some 

o2 


162 


CHARLES O^MALLEY. 


kind or other to be got out of, and one requiring some dexterity 
too, but what, or with whom, I could not for the life of me de- 
termine. What the wine had begun, the bright eyes completed, 
and amid the witchcraft of silky tresses and sweet looks, I lost all 
my reflection, till the impression of an impending difficulty re- 
mained fixed in my mind, and I tortured my poor, weak, and erring 
intellect to detect it. At last, and by a mere chance, my eyes fell 
upon Sparks, and, by what mechanism I contrived it I know not, 
but I immediately saddled him with the whole of my annoyances, 
and attributed to him and to his fault any embarrassment I la- 
boured under. 

The physiological reason of the fact Pm very ignorant of, but 
for the truth and frequency I can well vouch, that there are certain 
people, certain faces, certain voices, certain whiskers, legs, waist- 
coats, and guard chains, that inevitably produce the most striking 
effects upon the brain of a gentleman already excited by wine, 
and not exactly cognisant of his own peculiar fallacies. 

These effects are not produced merely among those who are 
quarrelsome in their cups, for I call the whole 14th to witness that 
I am not such ; but, to any person so disguised, the inoffensiveness 
of the object is no security on the other hand, for I once knew an 
eight-day clock kicked down a barrack stairs by an old Scotch 
major, because he thought it was laughing at him. To this source 
alone, whatever it be, can I attribute the feeling of rising indigna- 
tion with which I contemplated the luckless cornet, who, seated at 
the fire, unnoticed and uncared for, seemed a very unworthy object 
to vent anger or ill temper upon. 

‘‘Mr. Sparks, I fear,’’ said I, endeavouring at the time to 
call up a look of very sovereign contempt, “ Mr. Sparks, I fear, 
regards my visit here in the light of an intrusion.” 

Had poor Mr. Sparks been told to proceed incontinently up the 
chimney before him, he could not have look more aghast. Reply 
was quite out of his power ; so sudden and unexpectedly was this 
charge of mine made, that he could only stare vacantly from one 
to the other, while I, warming with my subject, and perhaps — but 
I’ll not swear it — stimulated by a gentle pressure from a soft hand 
near me, continued : “ If he thinks, for one moment, that my at- 
tentions in this family are in any way to be questioned by him, I 
can only say ” 

“ My dear O’Malley, my dear boy,” said the major, with the 
look of a father-in-law in his eye. 

“ The spirit of an officer and a gentleman spoke there,” said Mrs. 
Dalrymple, now carried beyond all prudence, by the hope that my 
attack might arouse my dormant friend into a counter declaration : 
nothing, however, was farther from poor Sparks, who began to 
think he had been unconsciously drinking tea with five lunatics. 

“ If he supposes,” said I, rising from my chair, “ that his silence 
will pass with me as any palliation ” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


163 


“Oh dear, oh dear ! there will be a duel, papa ; dear, why don’t 
you speak to Mr. O’Malley ?” 

“ There now, O’Malley, sit down ; don’t you see you are quite 
in error ?” 

“ Then let him say so,” said I, fiercely. 

“ Ah, yes, to be sure,” said Fanny, “do, say it, say any thing 
he likes, Mr. Sparks.” 

“ I must say,” said Mrs. Dalrymple, “ however sorry I may feel ‘ 
in my own house, to condemn any one, that Mr. Sparks is very 
much in the wrong.” 

Poor Sparks looked like a man in a dream. 

“ If he will tell Charles, Mr. O’Malley, I mean,” said Matilda, 
blushing scarlet, “ that he meant nothing by what he said ” 

“ But I never spoke — never opened my lips,” cried out the 
wretched man, at length, sufficiently recovered to defend himself. 

“ Oh, Mr. Sparks !” 

“ Oh, Mr. Sparks !” 

“ Oh, Mr. Sparks !” chorused the three ladies. 

While the old Major brought up the rear with an “ Oh ! Sparks, 
I must say ” 

“ Then, by all the saints in the calendar, I must be mad,” said 
he, “ but if I have said any thing to offend you, O’Malley, I am 
sincerely sorry for it.” 

“ That will do, sir,” said I, with a look of royal condescension 
at the amende I considered as somewhat late in coming, and re- 
sumed my seat. This little intermezzo, it might be supposed, was 
rather calculated to interrupt the harmony of our evening : not so, 
however. I had apparently acquitted myself like a hero, and was 
evidently in a white heat, in which I could be fashioned into any 
shape. Sparks was humbled so far, that he would probably feel 
it a relief to make any proposition ; so that, by our opposite courses, 
we had both arrived at a point at which all the dexterity and 
address of the family had been long since aiming without success. 
Conversation then re«umed its flow, and, in a few minutes, every 
trace of our late fracas had disappeared. 

By degrees, I felt myself more and more disposed to turn my 
attention towards Matilda, and, dropping my voice into a lower 
tone, opened a flirtation of a most determined kind. Fanny had, 
meanwhile, assumed a place beside Sparks, and, by the muttered 
tones that passed between them, I could plainly perceive they were 
similarly occupied. The Major took up the “ Southern Reporter,” 
of which he appeared deep in the contemplation, while Mrs. Dal. 
herself buried her head in her embroidery, and neither heard nor 
saw any thing around her. 

I know, unfortunately, but very little what passed between my- 
self and my fair companion ; I can only say that, when supper 
was announced at twelve, (an hour later than usual,) I was sitting 
upon the sofa, with my arm round her waist, my cheek so close, 


164 


CHARLES O’MALLEY, 


that already her lovely tresses brushed my forehead, and her 
breath fanned my burning brow. 

Supper, at last,” said the Major, with a loud voice, to arouse 
us from our trance of happiness, without taking any mean oppor- 
tunity of looking unobserved. Supper, Sparks : O’Malley, come 
now. It will be some time before we all meet this way again.” 

Perhaps not so long, after all,” said I, knowingly. 

■ “ Very likely not,” echoed Sparks, in the same key. 

I’ve proposed for Fanny,” said he, whispering in my ear. 

Matilda’s mine,” replied I, with the look of an emperor, 
word with you, Major,” said Sparks, his eye flashing with 
enthusiasm, and his cheek scarlet ; one word : I’ll not detain 
you.” 

They withdrew into a corner for a few seconds, during which 
Mrs. Dalrymple amused herself by wondering what the secret 
could be ; why Mr. Sparks couldn’t tell her : and Fanny, mean- 
while, pretended to look for something at a side-table, and never 
turned her head round. 

‘‘Then give me your hand,” said the Major, as he shook Sparks 
with a warmth of whose sincerity there could be no question. 
“ Bess, my love,” said he, addressing his wife : the remainder was 
lost in a whisper ; but, whatever it was, it evidently redounded to 
Sparks’ credit, for, the next moment, a repetition of the hand- 
shaking took place, and Sparks looked the happiest of men. 

“ t/? mo?i tour/’ thought I, “ now,” as I touched the Major’s 
arm, and led him towards the window. What I said may be one 
day matter of Major Dalrymple’s memoirs, if he ever writes them ; 
but, for my part, I have not the least idea. I only know that, 
while I was yet speaking, he called over Mrs. Dal., who, in a 
phrensy of joy, seized me in her arms, and embraced me ; after 
which I kissed her, shook hands with the Major, kissed Matilda’s 
hand, and laughed prodigiously, as though I had done something 
confoundedly droll, a sentiment evidently participated in by Sparks, 
who laughed too, as did the others, and a merrier, happier party 
never sat down to supper. 

“ Make your company pleased with themselves,” says Mr. 
Walker, in his Original work upon dinner-giving, “and every 
thing goes on well.” Now, Major Dalrymple, without having 
read the authority in question, probably because it was not written 
at the time, understood the principle fully as well as the police- 
magistrate, and certainly was a proficient in the practice of it. 

To be sure, he possessed one grand requisite for success, he 
seemed most perfectly happy himself. There was that air degage 
about him which, when an old man puts it on among his juniors, 
is so very attractive. Then the ladies, too, were evidently well 
pleased ; and the usually austere mamma had relaxed her “ rigid 
front” into a smile, in which any habitue of the house could have 
read our fate. 


THE lEISH DRAGOON. 


165 


We eat, we drank, we ogled, smiled, squeezed hands beneath the 
table, and, in fact, so pleasant a party had rarely assembled round 
the Major’s mahogany. As for me, I made a full disclosure of the 
most burning love, backed by a resolve to marry my fair neighbour, 
and settle upon her a considerably larger part of my native coun- 
try than I had ever even rode over. Sparks, on the other side, 
had opened his fire more cautiously ; but, whether taking courage 
from my boldness, or perceiving with envy the greater estimation 
I was held in, was now going the pace fully as fast as myself, and 
had commenced explanations of his intentions with regard to Fanny 
that evidently satisfied her friends. Meanwhile, the wine was 
passing very freely, and the hints half uttered an hour before, be- 
gan now to be more openly spoken and canvassed. 

Sparks and I hob-nobbed across the table, and looked unspeak- 
able things at each other ; the girls held down their heads ; Mrs. 
Dal. Aviped her eyes ; and the Major pronounced himself the hap- 
piest father in Europe. 

It was now wearing late, or rather early ; some gray streaks of 
dubious light were faintly forcing their way through the half-closed 
curtains, and the dread thought of parting first presented itself. A 
cavalry trumpet, too, at this moment sounded a call that aroused 
us from our trance of pleasure, and warned us that our minutes 
were few. A dead silence crept over all, the solemn feeling which 
leave-taking ever inspires was uppermost, and none spoke. The 
Major was the first to break it. “O’Malley, my friend; and 
you, Mr. Sparks; I must have a Word with you, boys, before we 
part.” 

“ Here let it be then. Major,” said I, holding his arm, as he 
turned to leave the room: “here, now; we are all so deeply 
interested, no place is so fit.” 

“ Well, then,” said the Major, “ as you desire it, now that I’m 
10 regard you both in the light of ray sons-in-law — at least, as 

pledged to become so — it is only fair as respects ” 

I see, I understand perfectly,” interrupted I, whose passion for 
conducting the whole affair myself was gradually gaining on 
me ; “ what you mean is, that we should make known our inten- 
tions before some mutual friends ere we part; eh, Sparks? eh. 
Major?” 

“ Right, my boy, right on every point.” 

Well, then, I thought of all that ; and, if you just send your 
servant over to my quarters for our captain ; he’s the fittest person, 
you know, at such a time.” 

“How considerate !” said Mrs. Dalrymple. 

“ How perfectly just his idea is !” said the Major. 

“ Well, then, in his presence, avotv our present and unalterable 
determination as regards your fair daughters, and as the time is 
short ” 

Here I turned towards Matilda, who placed her arm within 


166 


CHARLES O^MALLEY. 


mine ; Sparks possessed himself of Fanny^s hand, while the Major 
and his wife consulted for a few seconds. 

Well, O’Malley, all you propose is perfect. Now then, for the 
captain ; who shall he inquire for 

Oh, an old friend of yours,” said I, jocularly ; you’ll be glad 
to see him.” 

Indeed !” said all together. 

“ Oh, yes, quite a surprise. I’ll warrant it.” 

Who can it be : who on earth is it ?” 

‘‘ You can’t guess,” added I, with a very knowing look ; knew 
you at Corfu : a very intimate friend, indeed, if he tell the truth. ^ 

A look of something like embarrassment passed around the 
circle, at these words, while I, wishing to end the mystery, re- 
sumed : 

“ Come, then, who can be so proper for all parties at a moment 
like this, as our mutual friend. Captain Power 

Had a shell fallen into the cold grouse pie in the midst of us, 
scattering death and destruction on every side, the effect could 
scarcely have been more frightful than that my last words pro- 
duced. Mrs. Dalrymple fell with a sough upon the floor, motion- 
less as a corpse; Fanny threw herself screaming upon a sofa; 
Matilda went off into strong hysterics upon the hearth-rug; while 
the Major, after giving me a look a maniac might have envied, 
rushed from the room in search of his pistols, with a most terrific 
oath to shoot somebody, whether Sparks or myself, or both of us, 
on his return, I cannot say. Fanny’s sobs, and Matilda’s cries, 
assisted by a dunning process by Mrs. Dal.’s heels upon the floor, 
made a most infernal concert, and effectually prevented any thing 
like thought or reflection ; and, in all probability, so overwhelmed 
was I at the sudden catastrophe I had so innocently caused, I 
should have waited in due patience for the Major’s return, had not 
Sparks seized my arm, and cried out — 

Run for it, O’Malley, cut like fun, my boy, or we’re done 
for.” 

“ Run — why ? — what for ? — where !” said I, stupified by the 
scene before me. 

“ Here he is,” called out Sparks, as, throwing up the window, 
he sprung out upon the stone sill, and leaped into the street. I fol- 
lowed mechanically, and jumped after him, just as the Major had 
reached the windoAV ; a ball whizzed by me, that soon determined 
my further movements ; so, putting on all speed, I flew down the 
street, turned the corner, and regained the hotel breathless and 
without a hat, while Sparks arrived a moment later, pale as a 
ghost, and trembling like an aspen leaf. 

‘‘Safe, by Jove !” said Sparks, throwing himself into a chair, 
and panting for breath. 

“ Safe, at last,” said I, without well knowing Avhy or for what. 

“ You’ve had a sharp run of it, apparently,’’ said Power, coolly, 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


167 


and without any curiosity as to the cause ; “ and now, let us on 
board ; there goes the trumpet again. The skipper is a surly old 
fellow, and we must not lose his tide for him.’^ So saying, he pro 
ceeded to collect his cloaks, cane, &c., and get ready for departure 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE VOYAGE. 

When I awoke from the long sound sleep which succeeded my 
last adventure, I had some difficulty in remembering where I 
was, or how I had come there. From my narrow berth I looked 
out upon the now empty cabin, and, at length, some misty and 
confused sense of my situation crept slowly over me. I opened 
the little shutter beside me, and looked out. The bold headlands 
of the southern coast were frowning, in sullen and dark masses 
about a couple of miles distant, and I perceived that we were 
going fast through the water, which was beautifully calm and still 
I now looked at my watch ; it was past eight o’clock ; and, as it 
must evidently be evening from the appearance of the sky, I felt 
that I had slept soundly for above twelve hours. 

In the hurry of departure, the cabin had not been set to rights, 
and there lay every species of lumber and luggage in all imagi- 
nable confusion. Trunks, gun-cases, baskets of eggs, umbrellas, 
hampers of sea-store, cloaks, foraging caps, maps, and sword-belts 
were scattered on every side — while the dihris of a dinner, not 
over remarkable for its propriety in table equipage, added to the 
ludicrous effect. The heavy tramp of a foot overhead denoted the 
step of some one taking his short Avalk of exercise ; while the 
rough voice of the skipper, as he gave the word to “Go about,” all 
convinced me that we were at last under way, and off to “ the 
wars.” 

The confusion our last evening on shore produced in my brain 
was such, that every effort I made to remember any thing about it 
only increased my difficulty, and I felt myself in a web so tangled 
and inextricable, that all endeavour to escape free was impossible. 
Sometimes I thought that I had really married Matilda Dal- 
rymple ; then, I supposed that the father had called me out and 
wounded me in a duel ; and, finally, I had some confused notion 
about a quarrel with Sparks, but what for, when, and how it 
ended, I knew not. How tremendously tipsy I must have been, 
was the only conclusion I could draw from all these conflicting 
doubts ; and, after all, it was the only thing like fact that beamed 
upon my mind. How I had come on board and reached my berth 


168 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


was a matter I reserved for future inquiry ; resolving, that about 
the real history of my last night on shore I should ask no questions, 
if others were equally disposed to let it pass in silence. 

I next began to wonder if Mike had looked after all my luggage, 
trunks, &:c., and whether he himself had been forgotten in our 
hasty departure. About this latter point I was not destined for 
much doubt ; for a well-known voice from the fo6t of the compa- 
nion ladder at once proclaimed my faithful follower, and evidenced 
his feelings at his departure from his home and country. 

Mr. Free was, at the time I mention, gathered up like a ball op- 
posite a small, low window that looked upon the bluff headlands, 
now fast becoming dim and misty as the night approached. He 
was apparently in low spirits; and hummed in a species of low, 
droning voice, the following ballad, at the end of each verse of 
which came an Irish chorus, which, to the erudite in such matters 
will suggest the air of Meddirederoo : — 

MICKEY free’s LAMENT. 

“Then, fare ye well, ould Erin dear; 

To part — my heart does ache well. 

From Carrickfergus to Cape Clear, 

I’ll never see your equal. 

And, though to foreign parts we’re bound, 

Where cannibals may ate us. 

We’ll ne’er forget the holy ground 
Of poteen and potatoes. 

Meddirederoo aroo, aroo, &c. 

“ When good St. Patrick banished frogs, 

And shook them from his garment. 

He never thought we’d go abroad. 

To live upon such varmint; 

Nor quit the land where whisky grew. 

To wear King George’s button. 

Take vinegar for mountain dew. 

And toads for mountain mutton. 

Meddirederoo aroo, aroo,” &c. 

say, Mike, stop tliat confounded keen, and tell me where 
are we.” 

“ Off the ould head of Kinsale, sir.” 

Where is Captain Power ?” 

“ Smoking a cigar on deck with the Captain, sir.” 

And Mr. Sparks ?” 

Mighty sick in his own state room. Oh ! but it’s himself has 
enough of glory— bad luck to it— by this time ; he’d make your 
heart break to look at him.” 

“ Who have you got on beard besides ?” 

“The Adjutant’s here, sir, and an ould gentleman they call the 
Major.’ 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


169 


Not Major Dalrymple,” said I, starting up with terror at the 
thought ; eh, Mike 

No, sir, another Major, his name Mulroon, or Mundoon, or 
something like that.” 

“Monsoon, you son of a lumper potatoe,” cried out a surly, 
gruff’ voice from a berth opposite. Monsoon. Who’s at the other 
side ?” 

“ Mr. O’Malley, — 14th,” said I, by way of introduction. 

“ My service to you, then,” said the voice ; “ going to join your 
regiment ?” 

“ Yes, and you ; are you bound on a similar errand ?” 

“No, Heaven be praised! I’m attached to the commissariat, 
and only going to Lisbon. Have you had any dinner ?” 

“ Not a morsel : have you ?” 

“ No more than yourself ; but I always lie by for three or four 
days this way, till I get used to the confounded rocking and pitch- 
ing; and, with a little grog and some sleep, get over the time 
gayly enough. Steward, another tumbler like the last : there^ — 

very good — that will do. Your good health, Mr. , what was 

it you said ?” 

“ O’Malley.” 

“O’Malley — your good health — good night.” And so ended, 
our brief colloquy, and, in a few minutes more, a very decisive 
snore pronounced my friend to be fulfilling his precept for killing 
the hours. 

I now made the effort to emancipate myself from my crib, and 
at last succeeded in getting on the floor, where, after one chassez 
at a small looking-glass opposite, followed by a very impetuous 
rush at a little brass stove, in which I was interrupted by a trunk, 
and laid prostrate, I finally got my clothes on, and made my way 
to the deck. Little attuned as was my mind at the moment to 
admire any thing like scenery, it was impossible to be unmoved 
by the magnificent prospect before me. It was a beautiful even- 
ing in summer ; the sun had set above an hour before, leaving 
behind him in the west one vast arch of rich and burnished gold, 
stretching along the whole horizon, and tipping all the summits 
of the heavy rolling sea, as it rolled on, unbroken by foam or 
ripple, in vast moving mountains from the far coast of Labrador. 
We were already in bluG water, though the bold cliffs that were 
to form our departing point were but a few miles to leeward. 
There lay the lofty bluff of old Kinsale, whose crest, overhanging, 
peered from a summit of some hundred feet into the deep water 
that swept its rocky base ; many a tangled lichen and straggling 
bough trailing in the flood beneath. Here and there, upon the 
coast, a twinlding gleam proclaimed the hut of the fisherman, 
whose swift hookers had more than once shot by us, and disap- 
peared in a moment. The wind, which began to fall at sunset, 
freshened as the moon rose, and the good ship, bending to the 
22 P 


170 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


breeze, lay gently over, and rushed through the waters with a 
sound of gladness. I was alone upon the deck ; Power and the 
Captain, Whom I expected to have found, had disappeared some- 
how, and I was, after all, not sorry to be left to my own reflections 
uninterrupted. 

My thoughts turned once more to my home — to my first, my 
best, earliest friend, whose hearth I had rendered lonely and deso- 
late ; and my heart sunk within me as I remembered it. How 
deeply I reproached myself for the selfish impetuosity with which 
I had ever followed any rising fancy, — any new and sudden 
desire, and never thought of him whose every hope was in, 
whose very wish was for, me. Alas! alas! my poor uncle! how 
gladly would I resign every prospect my soldier’s life may hold 
out, with all its glittering promise, and all the flattery of success, 
to be once more beside you ; to feel your warm and manly grasp ; 
to see your smile ; to hear your voice ; to be again where all our 
best feelings are born and nurtured, and our cares assuaged, our 
joys more joyed in, and our griefs more wept — at home ! These 
very words have more music to my ears than all the softest strains 
that ever syren sung. They bring us back to all we have loved, 
by ties that are never felt but through such simple associations. 
And in the earlier memories called up, our childish feelings 
come back once more to visit us, like better spirits, as we walk 
amid the dreary desolation that years of care and uneasiness have 
spread around us. 

Wretched must he be who ne’er has felt such bliss ; and thrice 
happy he, who, feeling it, knows that still there lives for him 
that same early home, with all its loved inmates, its every dear 
and devoted object waiting his coming, and longing for his 
approach. 

Such were my thoughts as I stood gazing at the bold line of 
coast now gradually growing more and more dim while evening 
fell, and we continued to stand farther out to sea. So absorbed 
was I all this time in my reflections, that I never heard the voices 
which now suddenly burst upon my ears quite close beside me. 
I turned, and saw for the first time that, at the end of the quarter 
deck, stood what is called a round-house, a small cabin, from 
which the sounds in question proceeded. I walked gently 
forward, and peeped in, and certainly any thing more in contrast 
with my late revery need not be conceived. There sat the 
skipper, a bluff, round-faced, jolly-looking, little tar, mixing a 
bowl of punch at a table, at which sat my friend Power, the 
Adjutant, and a tall meager-looking Scotchman, whom I once 
met in Cork, and heard that he was the doctor of some infantry 
regiment. Two or three black bottles, a paper of cigars, and 
a tallow candle, were all the table equipage; but, certainly, 
the party seemed not to want for spirits and fun, to judge 
from the hearty bursts of laughing that every moment pealed 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


171 


forth, and shook the little building that held them. Power, 
' as usual with him, seemed to be taking the lead, and was 
evidently amusing himself with the peculiarities of his com- 
panions. 

“ Come, Adjutant, fill up : here’s to the campaign before us ; 
we at least have nothing but pleasure in the anticipation; no 
lovely wife behind; no charming babes to fret, and be fretted 
for, eh?” 

‘‘Vara true,” said the doctor, who was mated with a tartar ; 
“ ye maun have less regrets at leaving hame ; but a married man 
is no entirely denied his ain consolations.” 

“ Good sense in that,” said the skipper ; “ a wide berth and 
plenty of sea room are not bad things now and then.” 

“ Is that your experience also,” said Power, with a knowing 
look. “ Come, come. Adjutant, we’re not so ill olf, you see ; but, 
by Jove, I can’t imagine how it is a man ever comes to thirty 
without having at least one wife, without counting his colonial 
possessions, of course.” 

“Yes,” said the Adjutant, with a sigh, as he drained his glass to 
the bottom. “ It is devilish strange — women, lovely women !” 
here he filled and drank again, as though he had been proposing 
a toast for his own peculiar drinking. 

“ I say, now,” resumed Power, catching at once that there was 
something working in his mind ; “ I say, now, how happened it 
that you, a right good-looking, soldier-like fellow, that always 
made his way among the fair ones, with that confounded roguish 
eye and slippery tongue, how the deuse did it come to pass that 
you never married ?” 

“ I’ve been more than once on the verge of it,” said the Ad- 
jutant, smiling blandly at the flattery. 

“ And nae bad notion yours just to stay there,” said the Doctor, 
with a very peculiar contortion of countenance. 

“No pleasing you, no contenting a fellow like you,” said 
Power, returning to the charge; “that’s the thing: you get a 
certain ascendancy ; you have a kind of success, that renders you, 
as the French say, tete montee, and you think no woman rich 
enough, or good-looking enough, or high enough.” 

“ No, by Jove, you’re wrong,” said the Adjutant, swallowing 
the bait, hook and all, “ quite wrong there ; for, somehow, all my 
life, I was decidedly susceptible, not that I cared much for your 
blushing sixteen or budding beauties in white muslin, freslp from 
a back board and a governess; no, my taste inclined rather to 
the more sober charms of two or three-and-thirty, the embon- 
point, a good foot and ankle, a sensible breadth about the shoul- 
ders ” 

“Somewhat Dutch like, I take it,” said the skipper, puffing 
out a volume of smoke, “a little bluff in the bows, and great 
stowage, eh ?” 


172 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


You leaned then towards the widows/^ says Power. 

‘‘Exactly: I confess, a, widow always was my weakness. 
There was something I ever liked in the notion of a woman who 
had got over all the awkward girlishness of early years, and had 
that self-possession which habit and knowledge of the world con- 
fer, and Imew enough of herself to understand what she really 
wished, and where she would really go.’^ 

“ Like the trade winds,’’ puffed the skipper. 

“Then, as regards fortune, they have a decided superiority over 
the spinster class. I defy any man breathing — let him be half 
police magistrate, half chancellor — to find out the figure of a 
young lady’s dower. On your first introduction to the house, 
some kind friend whispers, ‘ go it, old boy, forty thousand ; not a 
penny less ;’ a few weeks later as the siege progresses, a maiden 
aunt, disposed to puffing, comes down to twenty ; this diminishes 
again one half, but then ‘ the money is in bank stock, hard three- 
and-a-half.’ You go a little farther, and as you sit one day over 
your wine with papa, he suddenly promulgates the fact that his 
daughter has five thousand pounds, two of which turn out to be 
in Mexican bonds, and three in an Irish mortgage.” 

“ Happy for you,” interrupted Power, “ that it be not in Gal- 
way, where a proposal to foreclose would be the signal for your 
being called out, and shot without benefit of clergy.” 

“ Bad luck to it, for Galway,” said the Adjutant. “ I was 
nearly taken in there once to marry a girl that her brother-in-law 
swore had eight hundred a year, and it came out afterwards that 
so she had, but it was for one year only ; and he challenged me 
for doubting his word too.” 

“ There’s an old formula for finding out an Irish fortune,” says 
Power, “ worth all the algebra they ever taught in Trinity. Take 
the half of the assumed sum, and divide it by three, the quotient 
will be a flattering representative of the figure sought for.” 

“Not in the north,” said the Adjutant, firmly; “not in the 
north. Power; they are all well off there. There’s a race of 
canny, thrifty, half Scotch niggers — ^your pardon. Doctor — they 
are all Irish — linen-weaving, Presbyterian, yarn-factoring, long- 
nosed, hard-drinking fellows, thajt lay by rather a snug thing now 
and then. Do you know I was very near it once in the north. 
I’ve half a mind to tell you the story; though, perhaps, you’ll 
laugh at me.” 

The whole party at once protested that nothing could induce 
them to deviate so widely from the line of propriety, and the 
skipper having mixed a fresh bowl, and filled all the glasses round, 
the cigars were lighted, and the Adjutant began : — 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


173 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE adjutant’s STORY LIFE IN DERRY. 

“ It is now about eight, maybe ten years, since, that we were 
ordered ta march from Belfast, and take up our quarters in Lon- 
donderry. We had not been more than a few weeks altogether, 
in Ulster, when the order came ; and, as we had been, for the 
preceding two years, doing duty in the south and west, we con- 
cluded that the island was tolerably the same in all parts. We 
opened our campaign in the maiden city, exactly as we had been 
doing with ‘ unparalleled success’ in Cashel, Fermoy, Tuam, &c., 
that is to say, we announced garrison balls, and private theatri- 
cals ; offered a cup to be run for in steeple chase ; turned out a 
four-in-hand drag, with mottled grays; and brought over two 
Deal boats to challenge the north.” 

‘^The 18 th found the place stupid,” said we. 

“ To be sure they did ; slow fellows, like them, must find any 
place stupid. No dinners; but they gave none. No fun; but 
they had none in themselves. In fact, we knew better: we un- 
derstood how the thing was to be done, and resolved that, as 
a mine of rich ore lay un worked, it was reserved for us to produce 
the shining metal that others, less discerning, had failed to dis- 
cover. Little we knew of the matter ; never was there a blunder 
like ours. Were you ever in Derry ?” 

Never,” said the listeners. 

Well, then, let me inform you, that the place has its own 
peculiar features* In the first place, all the large towns in the 
south and west have, besides the country neighbourhood that 
surrounds them, a certain sprinkling of gentlefolk, who, though 
with small fortunes and not much usage of the world, are still 
a great accession to society, and make up the blank which, even 
in the most thickly-peopled country, would be sadly felt without 
them. Now, in Derry, there is none of this. After the great 
guns and — per Baccho ! — what great guns are they ! You have 
nothing but the men engaged in commerce ; sharp, clever, shrewd, 
well-informed fellows; they are deep in flax-seed, cunning in 
molasses, and not to be excelled in all that pertains to coffee, 
sassafras, cinnamon, gum, oakum, and elephants’ teeth. The 
place is a rich one, and the spirit of commerce is felt throughout 
it. Nothing is cared for, nothing is talked of, nothing alluded to, 
that does not bear upon this ; and, in fact, if you haven’t a venture 
in Smyrna figs, Memel timber, Dutch dolls, or some such com- 

P 2 


174 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


modity, you are absolutely nothing, and might as well be at 
a ball with a cork leg, or go deaf to the opera. 

Now, when Pve told thus much, I leave you to guess what 
impression our triumphal entry into the city produced. Instead 
of the admiring crowds that awaited us elsewhere, as we marched 
gayly into quarters, here we saw nothing but grave, sober-looking, 
and, I confess it, intelligent-looking faces, that scrutinized our 
appearance closely enough, but evidently with no great approval, 
and less enthusiasm. The men passed on hurriedly to the counting- 
houses and the wharfs ; the women, with almost as little interest, 
peeped at us from the windows, and walked away again. Oh ! 
how we wished for Galway ; glorious Galway, that paradise of the 
infantry, that lies west of the Shannon. Little we knew, as we 
ordered the band, in lively anticipation of the gayeties before us, 
to strike up ‘ Payne’s first set,’ that, to the ears of the fair listeners 
in Ship Quay Street, the rumble of a sugar hogshead, or the 
crank, crank, of a weighing crane were more delightful music.” 

“ By Jove,” interrupted Power, ‘‘you are quite right. Women 
are strongly imitative in their tastes. The lovely Italian, whose 
very costume is a natural following of a Raphael, is no more like 
the pretty Liverpool damsel, than Genoa is to Glassnevin ; and 
yet, what the deuse have they, dear souls, with their feet upon a 
soft carpet, and their eyes upon the pages of Scott or Byron, to do 
with all the cotton or dimity that ever was printed. But let us 
not repine : that very plastic character is our greatest blessing.” 

“ I’m not so sure that it always exists,” said the Doctor dubiously, 
as though his own experience pointed otherwise. 

“ Well, go ahead,” said the Skipper, who evidently disliked the 
digression thus interrupting the Adjutant’s story. 

“ Well, we marched along, looking right and left at the pretty 
faces — and there was plenty of them too— that a momentary 
curiosity drew to the windows ; but, although we smiled, and 
ogled, and leered, as only a newly arrived regiment can smile, ogle, 
or leer, by all that’s provoking, w;e might as well have wasted our 
blandishments upon the Presbyterian meeting-house that frowned 
upon us, with its high pitched roof and round windows. 

“ ‘ Droll people these,’ said one ; ‘ rayther rum ones,’ cried an- 
other ; ‘the black north, by Jove,’ said a third; and so we went 
along to the barracks, somewhat displeased to think that, though 
the 18 th were slow, they might have met their match. 

“ Disappointed, as we undoubtly felt, at the little enthusiasm 
that marked our entree, we still resolved to persist in our original 
plan, and, accordingly, early the following morning announced our 
intention of giving amateur theatricals. The mayor, who called 
upon our colonel, was the first to learn this, and received the 
information with pretty much the same kind of look as the Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury might be supposed to assume, if requested 
by a friend to ride for the Derby. The incredulous expression of 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


175 


the poor man’s face, as he turned from one of us to the other, 
evidently canvassing in his mind, whether we might not, by some 
special dispensation of Providence, be all insane, I shall never 
forget. 

His visit was a very short one ; whether concluding that we 
were not quite safe company, or whether our notification was too 
much for his nerves, I know not. 

‘^We were not to be balked, however ; our plans for gayety, 
long planned and conned over, were soon announced in all form, 
and, though we made efforts almost superhuman in the cause, our 
plays were performed to empty benches, our balls were unattended, 
our pic-nic invitations politely declined, and, in a word, all our 
advances treated with a cold and chilling politeness that plainly 
said, ‘We’ll none of you.’ 

“ Each day brought some new discomfiture, and, as we met at 
mess, instead of having, as heretofore, some prospect of pleasure 
and amusement to chat over, it was only to talk gloomily over our 
miserable failures, and lament the dreary quarters that our fates 
had doomed us to. 

“ Some months wore on in this fashion, and at length — what 
will not time do ? — we began, by degrees, to forget our woes. 
Some of us took to late hours and brandy and water ; others got 
sentimental, and wrote journals, and novels, and poetry ; some few 
made acquaintances among the townspeople, and cut in to a quiet 
rubber to pass the evening, while another detachment, among 
which I was, got up a little love affair to while away the tedious 
hours and cheat the lazy sun. 

“ I have already said something of my taste in beauty ; now, 
Mrs. Boggs was exactly the style of woman I fancied. She was 
a widow ; she had black eyes — not your jet black, sparkling, 
Dutch-doll eyes, that roll about and tremble, but mean nothing — 
no ; hers had a soft, subdued, downcast, pensive look about them, 
and were fully as melting a pair of orbs as any blue eyes you ever 
looked at. 

“Then, she had a short upper lip, and sweet teeth; by Jove, 
they were pearls ! and she showed them, too, pretty often. Her 
figure was well rounded, plump, and what the French call nette. 
To complete all, her instep and ankle were unexceptionable, and 
lastly, her jointure was seven hundred pounds per annum, with a 
trifle of eight thousand more, that the late lamented Boggs be- 
queathed, when after four months of uninterrupted bliss, he left 
Derry for another world. 

“ When chance first threw me in the way of the fair widow, 
some casual coincidence of opinion happened to raise me in her 
estimation, and I soon afterwards received an invitation to a small 
evening party at her house, to which I alone of the regiment was 
asked. 

“ I shall not weary you with the details of my intimacy ; it is 


176 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


enough that I tell you I fell desperately in love. I began by visit- 
ing twice or thrice a week, and, in less than two months, spent 
every morning at her house, and rarely left it till the ‘ roast beeP 
announced mess. 

“ I soon discovered the widow’s cue ; she was serious. Now, I 
had conducted all manner of flirtations in my previous life ; timid 
young ladies, manly young ladies, musical, artistical, poetical, 
and hysterical. Bless you, I knew them all by heart ; but never 
before had I to deal with a serious one, and a widow to boot. 
The case was a trying one. For some weeks it was all very up- 
hill work ; all the red shot of warm affection I used to pour in on 
other occasions, was of no use here. The language of love, in 
which I was no mean proficient, availed me not. Compliments 
and flattery, those rare skirmishers before the engagement, were 
denied me ; and I verily think that a tender squeeze of the hand 
would have cost me my dismissal. 

‘‘ ‘ How very slow all this,’ thought I, as, at the end of two 
months’ siege, I still found myself seated in the trenches, and not 
a single breach in the fortress ; ‘ but, to be sure, it’s the way they 
have in the north, and one must be patient.’ 

While thus I was in no very sanguine frame of mind as to my 
prospects, in reality my progress was very considerable, having 
become a member of Mr. M^Phun’s congregation. I was gradually 
rising in the estimation of the widow and her friends, whom my 
constant attendance at meeting, and my very serious demeanour, 
had so far impressed, that very grave deliberation was held 
whether I should not be made an elder at the next brevet. 

“ If the Widow Boggs had not been a very lovely and wealthy 
widow, had she not possessed the eyes, lips, hips, ankles, and 
jointure aforesaid, I honestly avow that not the charms of that 
sweet man Mr. M^Phun’s eloquence, nor even the flattering dis- 
tinction in store for me, would have induced me to prolong my 
suit. However, I was not going to despair when in sight of land. 
The widow was evidently softened ; a little time longer, and the 
most scrupulous moralist, the most rigid advocate for employing 
time wisely, could not have objected to my daily system of court- 
ship. It was none of your sighing, dying, ogling, hand-squeezing, 
waist-pressing, oath-swearing, everlasting-adoring affairs, with an 
interchange of rings and lockets; not a bit of it. It was con- 
foundedly like a controversial meeting at the Rotundo, and I my- 
self had a far greater resemblance to Father Tom Maguire than a 
gay Lothario. 

After all, when mess-time came, when the roast beef played, 
and we assembled at dinner, and the soup and fish had gone 
round, with two glasses of sherry in, my spirits rallied, and a very 
jolly evening consoled me for all my fatigues and exertions, and 
supplied me with energy for the morrow; for, let me observe 
here, that I only made love before dinner. The evenings I re 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


177 


served for myself, assuring Mrs. Boggs that my regimental duties 
required all my time after mess hour, in which I was perfectly 
correct; for at six we dined; at seVen I opened the claret No. 1 ; 
at eight I had uncorked my second bottle ; by half-past eight I 
was returning to the sherry ; and, at nine, punctual to the moment, 
I was returning to my quarters on the back of my servant, Tim 
Daly, who had carried me safely for eight years, without a single 
mistake, as the foxhunters say. This was a way we had in the 
— th ; every man was carried away from mess, some sooner, some 
later ; I was always an early riser, and went betimes. 

Now, although I had very abundant proof, from circumstan- 
tial evidence, that I was nightly removed from the mess-room to 
my bed in the mode I mention, it would have puzzled me sorely 
to prove the fact in any direct way ; inasmuch as, by half-past 
nine, as the clock chimed, Tim entered to take me. I was very 
innocent of all that was going on, and except a certain vague sense 
of regret at leaving the decanter, felt nothing whatever. 

‘‘ It so chanced — what mere trifles are we ruled by in our des- 
tiny — that just as my suit with the widow had assumed its most 
favourable footing, old General Hinks, that commanded the dis- 
trict, announced his coming over to inspect our regiment. Over 
he came accordingly, and, to be sure we had a day of it. We 
were paraded for six mortal hours ; then we were marching and 
countermarching ; moving into line ; back again into column ; now 
forming open column, then into square ; till, at last, we began to 
think that the old General was like the Flying Dutchman, and 
was probably condemned to keep on drilling us to the day of judg- 
ment. To be sure, he enlivened the proceeding to me, by pro- 
nouncing the regiment the worst drilled and appointed corps in the 
service, and the adjutant (me !) the stupidest dunderhead — these 
were his words — he had ever met with. 

“ ‘ Never mind,’ thought I ; ‘ a few days more, and it’s little I’ll 
care for the eighteen mancEUvres. It’s small trouble your eyes 
right or your left shoulders forward will give me. I’ll sell out, 
and with the Widow Boggs and seven hundred a year — but no 
matter.’ 

^^This confounded inspection lasted till half-past five in the 
afternoon; so that our mess was delayed a full hour in conse- 
quence, and it was past seven as we sat down to dinner. Our 
faces were grim enough as we met together at first ; but what will 
not a good dinner and good wine do for the surliest party ? By 
eight o’clock we began to feel somewhat more convivially dis- 
posed ; and, before nine, the decanters were performing a quick 
step round the table, in a fashion very exhilarating, and very jovial 
to look at. 

“ ‘ No flinching to-night,’ said the senior major ; we’ve had a 
severe day ; let us also have a merry evening.’ 

‘‘ ‘ By Jove, Ormond,’ cried another, ‘ we must not leave this 
23 


178 CHARLES o’mALLEY, 

to-night. Confound the old humbugs and their musty whist party ; 
throw them over.’ 

‘‘ ^ I say, Adjutant,’ said Forbes, addressing me, ^ you’ve nothing 
particular to say to the fair widow this evening ; you’ll not bolt, I 
hope.’ 

‘‘ ^ That he shan’t,’ said one near me ; ‘ he must make up for his 
absence to-morrow ; for to-night we all stand fast.’ 

‘ Besides,’ said another, ‘ she’s at meeting by this. Old — what- 
d’ye-call-him — is at fourteenthly before now.’ 

‘ A note for you, sir,’ said the mess waiter, presenting me with 
a rose-coloured three-cornered billet. It was from la chlre Boggs 
herself, and ran thus : — 

‘ Dear Sir — Mr. MThun and a few friends are coming to tea 
at my house after meeting ; perhaps you will also favour us with 
your company. Yours truly, Eliza Boggs.’ 

What was to be done ? Quit the mess — ^leave a jolly party 
just at the jolliest moment — exchange Lafitte and red hermitage 
for a soiree of elders presided over by that sweet man Mr. M‘Phun. 
It was too bad ; but then, how much was in the scale ? What 
would the widow say if I declined .> What would she think? 
I well knew that the invitation meant nothing less than a full- 
dress parade of me before her friends, and that to decline was 
perhaps to forfeit all my hopes in that quarter forever. 

^ Any answer, sir ?’ said the waiter. 

‘ Yes,’ said I, in a half whisper, ‘ I’ll go ; tell the servant. I’ll 

go.’ 

At this moment my tender epistle was subtracted from before 
me, and, ere I turned round, had made the tour of half the table. 
I never perceived the circumstance, however, and filling my glass, 
professed my resolve to sit to the last, with a mental reserve to 
take my departure at the very first opportunity. Ormond and the 
Paymaster quitted the room for a moment, as if to give orders for 
a broil at twelve, and now all seemed to promise a very convivial 
and well-sustained party for the night. 

“ ‘ Is that all arranged ?’ inquired the Major, as Ormond en- 
tered. 

“ ‘ All right,’ said he ; ‘ and now let us have a bumper and a 
song, Adjutant, old boy, give us a chant.’ 

‘ What shall it be, then,’ inquired I, anxious to cover my in- 
tended retreat by an appearance of joviality. 

“ ‘ Give us — 

‘ When I was in the Fusiliers 
Some fourteen years ago.’ 

‘‘ ^ No, no, confound it, I’ve heard nothing else since I joined 
the regiment. Let us have the « Paymaster’s Daughter.’ 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


179 


‘‘‘Ah ! that’s pathetic ; I like that,’ lisped a young ensign. 

“ ‘ If I’m to have a vote,’ grunted out the senior major, ‘ I pro- 
nounce for West India Quarters.’ 

“ ‘ Yes, yes,’ said half a dozen voices together, ‘ let’s have West 
India Quarters. Come, give him a glass of sherry, and let him 
begin.’ 

“ I had scarcely finished off my glass, and cleared my throat 
for my song, when the clock on the chimney-piece chimed half- 
past nine, and the same instant I felt a heavy hand fall upon my 
shoulder; I turned, and beheld my servant, Tim. This, as I have 
already mentioned, was the hour at which Tim was in the habit 
of taking me home to my quarters, and, though we had dined an 
hour later, he took no notice of the circumstance, but, true to his 
custom, he was behind my chair. A very cursory glance at my 
‘ familiar’ was quite sufficient to show me that we had somehow 
changed sides, for Tim, who was habitually the most sober of 
mankind, was, on the present occasion, exceedingly drunk, while 
I, a full hour before that consummation, was perfectly sober. 

“ ‘ What d’ye want, sir ?’ inquired I, with something of severity 
in my manner. 

“ ‘ Come home,’ said Tim, with a hiccup that set the whole 
table in a roar. 

“ ‘Leave the room this instant,’ said I, feeling wrathy at being 
thus made a butt of for his offences. ‘ Leave the room, or I’D 
kick you out of it.’ Now this, let me add, in a parenthesis, was 
somewhat of a boast, for Tim was six feet three, and strong ir. 
proportion, and, when in liquor, fearless as a tiger. 

You’ll kick me out of the room, eh ! will you? Try; only 
try it ; that’s all.’ Here a new roar of laughter burst forth, while 
Tim, again placing an enormous paw upon my shoulder, con- 
tinued. ‘ Don’t be sitting there, making a baste of yourself, when 
you’ve got enough. Don’t you see you’re drunk ?’ 

“ I sprung to my legs on this, and made a rush to the fire-place, 
to secure the poker, but Tim was beforehand with me, and seiz- 
ing me by the waist with both hands, flung me across his shoul- 
ders, as though I were a baby, saying, at the same time, ‘ I’ll take 
you away at half-past eight to-morrow, av you’re as rampageous 
again.’ I kicked, I plunged, I swore, I threatened, I even begged 
and implored to be set down ; but, whether my voice was lost in 
the uproar around me, or that Tim only regarded my denuncia- 
tions in the light of cursing, I know not, but he carried me bodily 
down the stairs, steadying himself by one hand on the bannisters, 
while with the other he held me as in a vice. I had but one con- 
solation all this while ; it was this, that, as my quarters lay imme- 
diately behind the mess-room, Tim’s excursion would soon come 
to an end, and I should be free once more ; but guess my terror to 
find that the drunken scoundrel, instead of going, as usual, to the 
left, turned short to the right hand, and marched boldly into ' Ship 


180 


CHARLES O^MALLET, 


Quay Street. Every window in the mess-room was filled with 
our fellows, absolutely shouting with laughter. ‘ Go it, Tim — 
that’s the fellow — hold him tight — ^never let go,’ cried a dozen 
voices, while the wretch, with the tenacity of drunkenness, grip- 
ped me still harder, and took his way down the middle of the 
street. 

“ It was a beautiful evening in July, a soft summer night, as 
I made this pleasing excursion down the most frequented thorough- 
fare in the maiden city ; my struggles every moment exciting 
roars of laughter from an increasing crowd of spectators, who 
seemed scarcely less amused than puzzled at the exhibition. In 
the midst of a torrent of imprecations against my torturer, a loud 
noise attracted me. I turned my head and saw — horror of hor- 
rors ! — the door of the meeting-house just flung open, and the 
congregation issuing forth en masse. Is it any wonder if I remem- 
ber no more ? There I was, the chosen one of the Widow Boggs 
— the elder elect — ^the favoured friend and admired associate of 
Mr. M^Phun, taking an airing on a summer’s evening on the 
back of a drunken Irishman. Oh ! the thought was horrible ; 
and, certainly, the short and pithy epithets by which I was cha- 
racterized in the crowd neither improved my temper nor assuaged 
my wrath •, and I feel bound to confess that my own language 
was neither serious nor becoming. Tim, however, cared little for 
all this, and pursued the even tenor of his way through the whole 
crowd, nor stopped till, having made half the circuit of the wall, 
he deposited me safe at my own door, adding, as he set me down, 
‘Oh! av you’re as throublesome every evening, it’s a wheelbarrow 
I’ll be obleeged to bring for you.’ 

“ The next day I obtained a short leave of absence, and, ere a 

fortnight expired, exchanged into the th, preferring Halifax 

itself to the ridicule that awaited me in Londonderry.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


181 


CHAPTER XXX. 

FRED power’s ADVENTURE IN PHILIPSTOWN. 

The lazy hours of the long summer-day crept slowly over. 
The sea, unbroken by foam or ripple, shone like a broad blue 
mirror, reflecting here and there some fleecy patches of snow- 
white cloud as they stood unmoved in the sky. The good ship 
rocked to and fro with a heavy and lumbering motion ; the cord- 
age rattled; the bulkheads creaked; the sails flapped lazily against 
the masts ; the very sea-gulls seemed to sleep as they rested on the 
long swell that bore them along ; and every thing in sea and sky 
bespoke a calm. No sailor trod the deck; no watch was stirring; 
the very tiller-ropes were deserted ; and, as they traversed back 
and forwards with every roll of the vessel, told that we had no 
steerage way, and lay a mere log upon the water. 

I sat alone in the bow, and fell into a musing fit upon the past 
and the future. How happily for us is it ordained that, in the 
most stirring existences, there are every here and there such little 
resting-spots of reflection, from which, as from some eminence, we 
look back upon the road we have been treading in life, and cast a 
wistful glance at the dark vista before us. When first we set out 
upon our worldly pilgrimage, these are, indeed, precious moments, 
when, with buoyant heart and spirit high, believing all things, 
trusting all things, our very youth comes back to us, reflected 
from every object we meet ; and, like Narcissus, we are but wor- 
shipping our own image in the water. As we go on in life, the 
cares, the anxieties, and the business of the world, engross us 
more and more ; and such moments become fewer and shorter. 
Many a bright dream has been dissolved, and many a fairy vision 
replaced, by some dark reality; blighted hopes, false friendships, 
have gradually worn callous the heart once alive to every gentle 
feeling; and time begins to tell upon us: yet still, as the well- 
remembered melody to which we listened with delight in infancy 
brings to our mature age a touch of early years, so will the very 
association of these happy moments recur to us in our revery, and 
make us young again in thought. Then it is, that, as we look 
back upon our worldly career, we become convinced how truly is 
the child the father of the man ; how frequently are the projects 
of our manhood the fruit of some boyish predilection ; and that, 
in the emulative ardour that stirs the schoolboy’s heart, we may 

Q 


182 CHARLES O^MALLEr, 

read the prestige of that high daring that makes a hero of its 
possessor. 

These moments, too, are scarcely more pleasurable than they 
are salutary to us. Disengaged for the time of every worldly 
anxiety, we pass in review before our own selves ; and, in the 
solitude of our own hearts are we judged. That still, small voice 
of conscience, unheard and unlistened to amid the din and 
bustle of life, speaks audibly to us now ; and, while chastened on 
one side by regrets, we are sustained on the other by some 
approving thought, and, with many a sorrow for the past, and 
many a promise for the future, we begin to feel how good it is 
for us to be here.’’ 

The evening wore later : the red sun sank down upon the sea, 
growing larger and larger; the long line of mellow gold that 
sheeted along the distant horizon, grew first of a dark ruddy tinge, 
then paler and paler, till it became almost gray ; a single star shone 
faintly in the east, and darkness soon set in. With night came the 
wind; for almost imperceptibly the sails swelled slowly out, a 
slight rustle at the bow followed, the ship lay gently over, and we 
were once more in motion. It struck four bells; some casual 
resemblance in the sound to the old pendulum that marked the 
hour at my uncle’s house, startled me so that I actually knew not 
where I was. With lightning speed, my once home rose up before 
me with its happy hearts : the old familiar faces were there ; the 
gay laugh was in my ears ; there sat my dear old uncle, as with 
bright eye and mellow voice he looked a very welcome to his 
guests; there Boyle; there Considine ; there the grim-visaged 
portraits that graced the old walls, whose black oak wainscot 
stood in broad light and shadow, as the blazing turf-fire shone 
upon it ; there was my own place, now vacant ; methought my 
uncle’s eye was turned towards it, and that I heard him say, ‘^My 
poor boy! I wonder where is he now !” My heart swelled; my 
chest heaved; the tears coursed slowly down my cheeks, as I 
asked myself, Shall I ever see them more ?” Oh ! how little, 
how very little to us are the accustomed blessings of our life, till 
some change has robbed us of them; and how dear are they when 
lost to us ! My uncle’s dark foreboding that we should never meet 
again on earth, came, for the first time, forcibly to my mind, and 
my heart was full to bursting. What could repay me for the 
agony of that moment, as I thought of him — my first, my best, 
my only friend — whom I had deserted; and how gladly would I 
have resigned my bright day-dawn of ambition to be once more 
beside his chair ; to hear his voice ; to see his smile ; to feel his 
love for me. A loud laugh from the cabin roused me from my 
sad, depressing revery; and, at the same instant, Mike’s well- 
known voice informed me that the Captain was looking for me 
everywhere, as supper was on the table. Little as I felt disposed 
to join the party at such a moment, as I knew there was no 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


183 


escaping Power, I resolved to make the best of matters ; so, after 
a few minutes, I followed Mickey down the companion, and 
entered the cabin. 

The scene before me was certainly not calculated to perpetuate 
depressing thoughts. At the head of a rude old-fashioned table, 
upon which figured several black bottles, and various ill-looking 
drinking vessels of every shape and material, sat Fred Power ; 
on his right was placed the skipper ; on his left the doctor ; the 
bronzed, merry-looking, weather-beaten features of the one, con- 
trasting ludicrously with the pale, ascetic, acute-looking expres- 
sion of the other. Sparks, more than half-drunk, with the mark 
of a red-hot cigar upon his nether lip, was lower down; while 
Major Monsoon, to preserve the symmetry of the party, had pro- 
truded his head, surmounted by a huge red night-cap, from the 
berth opposite, and held out his goblet to be replenished from the 
punch-bowl. 

Welcome, thrice welcome, thou man of Galway,’’ cried out 
Power, as he pointed to a seat, and pushed a wine-glass towards 
me. Just in time, toe, to pronounce upon a new brewery ; taste 
that ; a little more of the lemon you would say, perhaps ; well, 
I agree with you; rum and brandy; glenlivet and guava jelly; 
limes, green tea, and a slight suspicion of preserved ginger — 
nothing else, upon honour — and the most simple mixture for the 
cure, the radical cure of blue devils and debt I know of ; eh. 
Doctor? you advise it yourself, to be taken before bed-time; 
nothing inflammatory in it ; nothing pugnacious : a mere circula- 
tion of the better juices and more genial spirits of the marly 
clay, without arousing any of the baser passions ; whisky is the 
devil for that.” 

« I canna say that I dinna like whisky toddy,” said the Doctor, 
« in the cauld winter nights its no sae bad.” 

Ah ! that’s it,” said Power ; “ there’s the pull you Scotch 
have upon us, poor Patlanders; cool, calculating, long-headed 
fellows, you only come up to the mark after fifteen tumblers ; 
whereas we hot-brained devils, with a blood at 212 ° of Fahrenheit, 
and a high pressure engine of good spirits always ready for an ex- 
plosion, we go clean mad when tipsy ; not but I am fully convinced 
that a mad Irishman is worth two sane people of any other country 
under heaven.” 

“ If you mean by that insin — insin — avation to imply any disre- 
spect to the English,” stuttered out Sparks, ‘‘ I am bound to say 
that I for one, and the Doctor, I am sure, for another 

‘^Na, na,’^ interrupted the Doctor, “ye manna coont upon me ; 
I’m no disposed to fecht ower our liquor.” 

“ Then, Major Monsoon, I’m certain ” 

“ Are ye, faith,” said the Major, with a grin ; “blessed are they 
who expect nothing — of which number you are not — ^for most 
decidedly you shall be disappointed.” 


184 


CHARLES o’mALLET, 


‘‘ Never mind, Sparks, take the whole fight to your own proper 
self, and do battle like a man ; and here I stand, ready at all arms 
to prove my position — that we drink better, sing better, court 
better, fight better, and make better punch than every John Bull 
from Berwick to the Land’s End.” 

Sparks, however, who seemed not exactly sure how far his 
antagonist was disposed to quiz, relapsed into a half-tipsy expres- 
sion of contemptuous silence, and sipped his liquor without reply. 

Yes,” said Power, after a pause, bad luck to it for whisky j 
it nearly got me broke once, and poor Tom O’Reilly of the 5th, 
too, the best-tempered fellow in the service ; we were as near it 
as touch and go ; and all for some confounded Loughrea spirits, 
that we believed to be perfectly innocent, and used to swill away 
freely, without suspicion of any kind.” 

“ Let’s hear the story,” said I, by all means.” 

It’s not a long one,” said Power ; “ so I don’t care if I tell it ; 
and besides, if I make a clean breast of my own sins. I’ll insist 
upon Monsoon’s telling you afterwards how he stocked his cellar 
in Cadiz ; eh. Major ? there’s worse tipple than the King of Spain’s 
sherry ?” 

You shall judge for yourself, old boy,” said Monsoon, good 
humouredly ; “ and, as for the narrative, it is equally at your ser- 
vice. Of course, it goes no farther. The commander-in-chief, 
long life to him, is a glorious fellow ; but he has no more idea of 
a joke than the Archbishop of Canterbury, and it might chance to 
reach him.” 

“ Recount and fear not,” cried Power ; we are discreet as the 
worshipful company of apothecaries.” 

‘‘ But you forget you are to lead the way.” 

Here goes then,” said the jolly Captain ; “ not that the story 
has any merit in it, but the moral is beautiful. 

Ireland, to be sure, is a beautiful country, but somehow it 
would prove a very dull one to be quartered in, if it were not that 
the people seem to have a natural taste for the army. From the 
belle of Merrion-square down to the innkeeper’s daughter in Tralee, 
the loveliest part of the creation seem to have a perfect apprecia- 
tion of our high acquirements and advantages ; and, in no other part 
of the globe, the Tonga Islands included, is a red coat more in 
favour. To be sure, they would be very ungrateful if it were not 
the case ; for we, upon our sides, leave no stone unturned to make 
ourselves agreeable. We ride, drink, play, and make love to the 
ladies, from Fairhead to Killarney, in a way greatly calculated to 
render us popular ; and, as far as making the time pass pleasantly, 
we are the boys for the ‘ greatest happiness’ principle. I repeat 
it ; we deserve our popularity. Which of us does not get head 
and ears in debt with garrison balls and steeple-chases, pic-nics, 
regattas, and the thousand and one inventions to get rid of one’s 
spare cash, so called for being so sparingly dealt out by our governors 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


185 


Now and then too, when all else fails, we lane a newly joined 
ensign, and make him marry some pretty but penniless lass, in a 
country town, just to show the rest that we are not joking, but 
have serious ideas of matrimony, in the midst of all our flirtation. 
If it were all like this, the green isle would be a paradise ; but, 
unluckily, every now and then, one is condemned to some infernal 
place, where there is neither a pretty face nor light ankle ; where 
the priest himself is not a good fellow ; and long, ill-paved, strag- 
gling streets, filled, on market days, with booths of striped calico 
and soapy cheese, is the only promenade ; and a ruinous barrack, 
with mouldy walls and a tumbling chimney, the only quarters. 

In vain, on your return from your morning stroll or afternoon 
canter, you look on the chimney-piece for a shower of visiting 
cards, arid pink notes of invitation ; in vain you ask your servant 
has any one called. Alas ! your only visiter has been the 
gauger, to demand a party to assist in still-hunting, amid that 
interesting class of the population, who, having nothing to eat, 
are engaged in devising drink, and care as much for the life of a 
red-coat as you do for that of a crow or a curlew. This may seem 
overdrawn ; but I would ask you, were you ever for your sins 
quartered in that capital city of the Bog of Allen they call Philips- 
town ? Oh, but it is a romantic spot ! They tell us somewhere 
that much of the expression of the human face divine depends 
upon the objects which constantly surround us. Thus the inhabi- 
tants of mountain districts imbibe, as it were, a certain bold and 
daring character of expression from the scenery, very different 
from the placid and monotonous look of those who dwell in plains 
and valleys ; and I can certainly credit the theory in this instance, 
for every man, woman, and child you meet has a brown, baked, 
scrufl'y, turf-like face, that fully satisfy you that, if Adam were 
formed of clay, the Philipstown people were worse treated, and 
only made of bog mould. 

Well, one fine morning, poor Tom and myself were marched 
off from Birr, where one might ‘ live and love forever,’ to take up 
our quarters at this sweet spot. Little we knew of Philipstown, 
and, like my friend, the adjutant there, when he laid siege to Derry, 
we made our entree with all the pomp we could muster, and though 
we had no band, our drums and fifes did duty for it ; and we 
brushed along through turf creels and wicker baskets of new 
brogues that obstructed the street till we reached the barrack, the 
only testimony of admiration we met with being, I feel bound to 
admit, from a ragged urchin of ten years, who, with a wattle in his 
hand, imitated me as I marched along, and, when I cried halt, 
took his leave of us by dexterously affixing his thumb to the side 
of his nose, and outstretching his fingers, as if thus to convey a 
very strong hint that we were not half so fine fellows as we 
thought ourselves. Well, four mortal summer months of hot sun 
and cloudless sky went over, and still wo lingered in that vile 
24 Q 2 


186 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


village, the everlasting monotony of our days being marked by the 
same brief morning drill, the same blue-legged chicken dinner, the 
same smoky Loughrea whisky, and the same evening stroll along 
the canal bank, to watch for the Dublin packet-boat, with its never- 
varying cargo of cattle-dealers, priests, and peelers, on their way to 
the west country, as though the demand for such colonial produc- 
tions in these parts was insatiable. This was pleasant, you will 
say ; but, what Avas to be done ? we had nothing else. Now nothing 
saps a man’s temper like ennui. The cranky, peevish people one 
meets with, would be excellent folk if they only had something to 
do. As for us, Pll venture to say, two men more disposed to go 
pleasantly down the current of life, it were hard to meet with ; and 
yet, such was the consequence of these confounded four month’s 
sequestration from all other society, we became sour and cross- 
grained ; everlastingly disputing about trifles, and continually argu- 
ing about matters Avhich neither were interested in, nor indeed 
knew any thing about. There Avere, indeed, it is true, feAV topics to 
discuss ; newspapers Ave never saw ; sporting there Avas none : but, 
then, the drill, the return of duty, the probable chances of our being 
ordered for service, Avere all daily subjects to be talked over, and 
usually with considerable asperity and bitterness. One point, 
hoAvever, ahvays served us, Avhen hard pushed for a bone of con- 
tention, and Avhich, begun by a mere accident at first, gradually in- 
creased to a sore and techy subject, and finally led to the conse- 
quences Avhich I have hinted at in the beginning — this Avas no less 
than the respective merits of our mutual servants ; each everlast- 
ingly indulging in a tirade against the other, for aAvkwardness, 
incivility, unhandiness, charges, I am bound to confess, most amply 
proved on either side. 

‘‘ ‘ Well, I am sure, O’Reilly, if you can stand that felloAV. It’s 
no affair of mine ; but such an ungainly savage I never met, I 
would say.’ 

“ To Avhich he Avould reply, ‘ Bad enough he is certainly ; but, 
by Jove, Avhen I only think of your Hottentot, I feel grateful for 
Avhat I’ve got.’ 

“ Then ensued a discussion, with attack, rejoinder, charge and 
recrimination, till Ave retired for the night, Avearied Avith our exer- 
tions, and not a little ashamed of ourselves at bottom for our 
absurd Avarmth and excitement. In the morning the matter Avould 
be rigidly avoided by each party, until some chance occasion had 
brought it on the tapis^ Avhen hostilities Avould be immediately 
renewed, and carried on with the same vigour, to end as before. 

In this agreeable state of matters Ave sat one Avarm summer 
evening before the mess-room, under the shade of a canvass aAvn- 
ing, discussing, by Avay of refrigerant, our eighth tumbler of 
whisky punch : Ave had as usual been jarring aAvay about every 
thing 'under heaven. A lately arrived post-chase, Avith an old, 
stiff-looking gentleman in a queue, had formed a kind of ^ God- 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


187 


send ’ for debate, as to who he was, whither he was going, ' 
whether he really had intended to spend the night there, or that he 
only put up because the chaise was broken ; each, as was cus- 
tomary, maintaining his own opinion with an obstinacy we have 
often since laughed at, though, at the time, we had few mirthful 
thoughts about the matter. * 

As the debate waxed warm, O’Reilly asserting that he posi- 
tively knew the individual in question to be a United Irishman, 
travelling with instructions from the French government, while I 
laughed him to scorn, by swearing that he was the rector of Tyr- 
rell’s-pass ; that I knew him well ; and, moreover, that he was 
the worst preacher in Ireland. Singular enough it was, that all 
this while the disputed identity was himself standing coolly at the 
inn window, with his snuff-box in his hand, leisurely examining 
us as we sat, appearing, at least, to take a very lively interest in 
our debate. 

. ‘ Come, now,’ said O’Reilly, ‘ there’s only one way to conclude 

this, and make you pay for your obstinacy. What will you bet 
that he’s the rector of Tyrrell’s-pass ?’ 

^ What odds will you take that he’s Wolfe Tone ?’ inquired I, 
sneeringly. 

Five to one against the rector,’ said he exultingly. 

‘‘‘An elephant’s molar to a tooth-pick against Wolfe Tone,’ 
cried I. 

“ ‘ Ten pound even that I’m nearer the mark than you,’ said 
Tom, with a smash of his fist upon the table. 

“ ‘ Done,’ said I, ‘ done : but how are we to decide the 
wager ?’ 

“ ‘ That’s soon done,’ said he ; at the same instant he sprung to 
his legs and called out, ‘ Pat — I say Pat — I want you to present 
my respects to ’ 

“ ‘ No, no, I bar that — no ex-parte statements. Here, Jem, do 
you simply tell that ’ 

“ ‘ That fellow can’t deliver a message. Do come here, Pat. 
Just beg of ’ 

“ ‘ He’ll blunder it, the confounded fool ; so, Jem, do you 
go.’ 

“ The two individuals thus addressed were just in the act of 
conveying a tray of glasses and a spiced round of beef for sup- 
per into the mess-room ; and, as I may remark that they fully 
entered into the feelings of jealousy their respective masters 
professed, each eyed the other with a look of very unequivocal 
dislike. 

“ ‘ Arrah, you needn’t be pushin’ me that way,” said Pat, “ an’ 
the round o’ beef in my hands.’ 

“ ‘ Devil’s luck to ye, it’s the glasses you’ll be breaking, with 
your awkward elbow.” 

“ ‘ Then why don’t ye leavq the way : aint I your suparior ?’ 


188 


CHARLES o’MALLET, 


^ Aint I the Captain’s own man ?’ 

^ Ay, and if you war. Don’t I belong to his betters } Isn’t my 
master the two liftenants ?’ 

‘‘This, strange as it may sound, was so far true, as I held a 
commission in an African corps, with my lieutenantcy in the 
5th. 

“ ‘ Begorra, av he was six there now, you don it.’ 

“ At the same moment a tremendous crash took place, and the 
large dish fell in a thousand pieces on the pavement, while the 
spiced round rolled pensively down the yard. 

“ Scarcely was the noise heard, when, with one vigorous kick, 
the tray of glasses was sent spinning into the air, and the next 
moment the disputants were engaged in bloody battle. It was at 
this moment that our attention was first drawn towards them, and 
I need not say with what feelings of interest we looked on. 

“ ‘ Hit him, Pat — there, Jem, under the guard — that’s it — go in — 
well done, left hand — by Jove, that was a facer — ^his eye’s closed — 
he’s done — not a bit of it — how do you like that — unfair, unfair — 
no such thing — I say it was — not at all — I deny it.’ 

“ By this time we had approached the combatants, each man 
patting his own fellow on the back, and encouraging him by the 
most lavish promises. Now it was, but in what way I never could 
exactly tell, that I threw out my right hand to stop a blow that I 
saw coming rather too near me, when, by some unhappy mis- 
chance, my doubled fist lighted upon Tom O’Reilly’s nose. Before 
I could express my sincere regret for the accident, the blow was 
returned with double force, and the next moment we were at it 
harder than the others. After five minutes’ sharp work, we both 
stopped for breath, and incontinently burst out a laughing. There 
was Tom with a nose as large as three ; a huge cheek on one side, 
and the whole head swinging round like a harlequin’s ; while I, 
with one eye closed, and the other like a half-shut cockle-shell, 
looked scarcely less rueful. We had not much time for mirth, 
for at the same instant a sharp, full voice, called out close beside 
us — 

“‘To your quarters, sirs. I put you both under arrest, from 
which you are not to be released until the sentence of a court-mar- 
tial decide if conduct such as this become officers and gentle- 
men.’ 

“ I looked round and saw the old fellow in the queue. 

“ ‘ Wolfe Tone, by all that’s unlucky,’ said I, with an attempt at 
a smile. 

“ ‘ The rector of Tyrrell’s-pass,’ cried out Tom with a snuffle ; 

‘ the worst preacher in Ireland ; eh, Fred ?’ 

“ We had not much time for further commentaries upon our 
friend, for he at once opened his frock coat, and displayed to our 
horrified gaze the uniform of a general officer. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


180 


Yes, sir, General Johnston, if you will allow me to present 
him to your acquaintance ; and now, guard, turn out.’ 

^^In a few minutes more the orders were issued, and poor Tom 
and myself found ourselves fast confined to our quarters, with a 
sentinel at the door, and the pleasant prospect that, in a space of 
about ten days, we should be broke and dismissed the service ; 
which verdict, as tli^ general order would say, the Commander of 
the Forces has been graciously pleased to approve. 

However, when morning came, the old general, who was really 
a trump, inquired a little further into the matter, saw it was partly 
accidental, and, after a severe reprimand, and a caution about 
Loughrea whisky after the sixth tumbler, released us from arrest, 
and forgave the whole affair.” 


190 


CHARLES o’MALLEr, 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE VOYAGE. 

Ugh ! what a miserable thing is a voyage ! Here we are now 
eight days at sea ; the eternal sameness of all around growing 
every hour less supportable. Sea and sky are beautiful things 
when seen from the dark woods and waving meadows on shore ; 
but their picturesque effect is sadly marred from want of contrast ; 
besides that, the ‘Houjours pork,” with crystals of salt as long as 
your wife’s fingers ; the potatoes, that seemed varnished in French 
polish ; the tea, seasoned with geological specimens from the basin 
of London, ycleped maple sugar ; and the butter — ye gods ! — the 
butter ! But why enumerate these smaller features of discomfort, 
and omit the more glaring ones ? The utter selfishness which blue 
water suggests, is inevitably as the cold fit follows the ague ; the 
good fellow that shares his knapsack or his last guinea on land, 
here forages out the best corner to hang his hammock ; jokey s you 
into a comfortless crib, where the uncaulked deck but filters every 
rain from heaven on your head ; he votes you the corner at dinner, 
not only that he may place you with your back to the thorough 
draught of the gangway ladder, but that he may eat, drink, and lie 
down, before you have even begun to feel the qualmishness that 
the dinner of a troop ship is well calculated to suggest ; cuts his 
pencil with your best razor ; wears your shirts, as washing is 
scarce ; and winds up all by having a good story of you every 
evening for the edification of the other ‘^sharp gentlemen,” who, 
being too wide awake to be humbugged themselves, enjoy his suc- 
cess prodigiously. This, gentle reader, is neither confession nor 
avowal of mine. The passage I have here presented to you I have 
taken from the journal of my brother officer Mr. Sparks, who, when 
not otherwise occupied, usually employed his time in committing 
to paper his thoughts upon men, manners, and things at sea in 
general; though, sooth to say, his was not an idle life; being 
voted by unanimous consent “ a junior,” he was condemned to 
offices that the veriest fag in Eton or Harrow had rebelled against. 
In the morning, under the psuedonyme of Mrs. Sparks, he pre- 
sided at breakfast, having previously made tea, coffee, and choco- 
late for the whole cabin, besides boiling about twenty eggs at 
various degrees of hardness : he was under heavy recognisances 
to provide a plate of buttered toast of very alarming magnitude, 
fried ham, kidneys, &c., to no end. Later on, when others saun- 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


191 


tered about the deck, vainly endeavouring to fix their attention 
upon a novel or a review, the poor cornet might be seen with a 
white apron tucked gracefully round his spare proportions, whip- 
ping eggs for pancakes, or with up-turned shirt-sleeves, fashioning 
dough for a pudding. As the day waned, the cook’s galley be- 
came his haunt, where, exposed to a roasting fire, he inspected the 
details of a cuisine, for which, whatever his demerits, he was sure 
of an ample remuneration in abuse at dinner. Then came the din- 
ner itself, that dread ordeal, where nothing was praised, and every 
thing censured. This was followed by the punch-making, where 
the tastes of six different and differing individuals were to be ex- 
clusively consulted, in the self-same beverage : and lastly, the sup- 
per at night, when Sparkie, as he was familiarly called towards 
evening, grown quite exhausted, became the subject of unmitigated 
wrath, and most unmeasured reprobation. 

I say. Sparks, it’s getting late ; the spatch cock, old boy ; don’t 
be slumbering.” 

By the by, Sparkie, what a mess you made of that pea soup 
to-day ! By Jove, I never felt so ill in my life.” 

“ Na, na, it was na the soup ; it was something he pit in the 
punch, that’s burnin’ me ever since I tuk it. Ou, man, but ye’re 
an awfu’ creture wi’ vittals.” 

He’ll improve. Major, he’ll improve ; don’t discourage him ; 
the boy’s young; be alive now there — where’s the toast — con- 
found you — where’s the toast ?” 

‘‘ There, Sparks, you like a drumstick, I know — mustn’t muzzle 
the ox, eh ? Scripture for you, old boy ; eat away ; hang the ex- 
pense : hand him over the jug — empty — eh, Charley? Come, 
Sparkie, bear a hand, the liquor’s out.” 

‘‘ But won’t you let me eat ? 

“ Eat ! Heavens, what a fellow for eating ! By George, such 
an appetite is clean against the articles of war ! Come, man, it’s 
drink Ave’re thinking of; there’s the rum, sugar, limes; see to the 
hot water. Well, skipper, how are we getting on ?” 

Lying our course ; eight knots off the log ; pass the call. Why, 
Mister Sparks.” 

Eh, Sparks, what’s this ?” 

« Sparks, my man, confound it :” and then, omnes chorussing 
« Sparks !” in every key of the gamut, the luckless fellow would 
be obliged to jump up from his meager fare, and set to work at a 
fresh brewage of punch for the others. The bowl and the glasses, 
filled by some little management on Power’s part, our friend, the 
cornet, would be drawn out, as the phrase is, into some confession 
of his early years, which seemed to have been exclusively spent 
in love-making, devotion to the fair being as integral a portion of 
his character as tippling was of the worthy Major’s. 

Jffke most men who pass their life in over-studious efforts to 
please — however un gallant the confession be— the amiable Sparks 


192 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


had had little success : his love if not, as it generally happened, 
totally unrequited, was invariably the source of some awkward 
catastrophe, there being no imaginable error he had not at some 
time or other fallen into, nor any conceivable mischance to which 
he had not been exposed. Inconsolable widows, attached wives, 
fond mothers, newly-married brides, engaged young ladies, were, 
by some contretemps, continually the subject of his attachments ; 
and the least mishap which followed the avowal of his passion 
was to be heartily laughed at, and obliged to leave the neighbour- 
hood. Duels, apologies, actions at law, compensations, &c. were 
' of every-day occurrence ; and to such an extent too, that any man 
blessed with a smaller bump upon the occiput, would eventually 
have long since abandoned the pursuit, and taken to some less ex- 
pensive pleasure ; but poor Sparks, in the true spirit of a martyr, 
only gloried the more, the more he suffered : and, like the worthy 
man who continued to purchase tickets in the lottery for thirty 
yeaVs, with nothing but a succession of blanks, he ever imagined 
that Fortune was only trying his patience, and had some cool forty 
thousand pounds of happiness waiting his perseverance in the end. 
Whether this prize ever did turn up in the course of years, I am 
unable to say ; but certainly up to the period of his history I now 
speak of, all had been as gloomy and unrequiting as need be. 
Power, who kneAv something of every man’s adventures, was 
aware of so much of poor Sparks’ career, and usually contrived 
to lay a trap for a confession that generally served to amuse us 
during an evening, as much, I acknowledge, from the manner of 
the recital, as any thing contained in the story. There was a 
species of serious matter-of-fact simplicity in his detail of the most 
ridiculous scenes that left you convinced that his bearing upon 
the affair in question must have greatly heightened the absurdity ; 
nothing, however comic or droll in itself, ever exciting in' him the 
least approach to a smile ; he sat with his large light-blue eyes, 
light hair, long upper lip, and retreating chin, lisping out an ac- 
count of an adventure, with a look of Liston about him, that was 
inconceivably amusing. 

Come, Sparks,” said Power, ‘‘ I claim a promise you made me 
the other night, on condition we let you off making the oyster- 
patties at ten o’clock : you can’t forget what I mean.” Here the 
Captain knowingly touched the tip of his ear, at which signal the 
coronet coloured slightly, and drank off his wine in a hurried con- 
fused way. “ He promised to tell us. Major, how he lost the tip 
of his left ear. I have myself heard hints of the circumstance, 
but would much rather hear Sparks’ own version of it.” 

Another love story,” said the Doctor with a grin, I’ll be 
bound.” 

“ Shot off in a duel ?” said I, inquiringly ; “ close work, too.” 

No such thing,” replied Power ; “ but Sparks will enlighten 
you. It is, without exception, the most touching and beautiful 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


193 


thing I ever heard ; as a simple story, it beats the Vicar of Wake- 
field to sticks.’^ 

“You don’t say so,” said poor Sparks, blushing. 

Ay, that I do, and maintain it too. I’d rather be the hero of 
that little adventure, and be able to recount it as you do — for, 
mark me, that’s no small part of the effect — than I’d be full colonel 
of the regiment. Well, I am sure I always thought it affecting ; 
but, somehow, my dear friend, you don’t know your powers ; you 
have that within you would make the fortune of half the periodi- 
cals going. Ask Monsoon or O’Malley there, if I did not say so 
at breakfast, when you were grilling the old hen, which, by the 
by, let me remark, was not one of your chef-d^ oeuvres ’’ 

“ A tougher beastie I never put a tooth in.” 

But the story ; the story,” said I. 

<^Yes,” said Power, with a tone of command, ‘Uhe story, 
Sparks.” 

Well, if you really think it worth telling, as I have always 
felt it a very remarkable incident, here goes.” 


25 


R 


194 


CHARLES o’mALLET, 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

MR. sparks’ story. 

‘‘I SAT at breakfast one beautiful morning in the Goat Inn 
at Barmouth, looking out by one window upon the lovely vale 
of Barmouth, with its tall trees and brown trout stream struggling 
through the woods, then turning to take a view of the calm, sea, 
that, speckled over with white-sailed fishing-boats, stretched away 
in the distance. The eggs were fresh ; the trout newly caught ; 
the cream delicious ; before me lay the Plwdwddlwn Advertiser, 
which, among the fashionable arrivals at the sea, set forth Mr. 
Sparks, nephew of Sir Toby Sparks, of Manchester, a paragraph, 
by the way, I always inserted. The English are naturally an 
aristocratic people, and set a due value upon a title.” 

“ A very just observation,” remarked Power seriously, while 
Sparks continued. 

“ However, as far as any result from the announcement, I might 
as well have spared myself the trouble ; for not a single person 
called ; not one solitary invitation to dinner ; not a pic-nic ; not a 
breakfast ; no, nor even a tea-party was heard of. Barmouth, at 
the time I speak of, was just in that transition state at which the 
caterpillar may be imagined, when, having abandoned his reptile 
habits, he still has not succeeded in becoming a butterfly. In 
fact, it had ceased to be a fishing-village, but had not arrived at 
the dignity of a watering-place. Now, I know nothing as bad as 
this. You have not on one hand the quiet retirement of a little 
peaceful hamlet, with its humble dwellings and cheap pleasures ; 
nor have you the gay and animated tableau of fashion in miniature 
on the other ; but you have noise, din, bustle, confusion, beautiful 
scenery, and lovely points of view, marred and ruined by vulgar 
associations ; every bold rock and jutting promontory has its citi- 
zen occupants; every sandy cove or tide-washed bay has its 
myriads of squalling babes and red baise-clad bathing-women, 
those veritable descendants of the nymphs of old. Pink parasols, 
donkey-carts, baskets of bread and butter, reticules, guides to 
Barmouth, specimens of ore, fragments of gypsum, meet you at 
every step, and destroy every illusion of the picturesque. 

I shall leave this, thought I. My dreams, my long-cherished 
dreams of romantic walks upon the sea-shore, of evening strolls 
by moonlight, through dell and dingle, are reduced to a short 
promenade, through an alley of bathing-boxes, amid a streaming 
population of nursery -maids and sick children, with a thorough- 
bass of ^ fresh shrimps,’ discordant enough to frighten the very 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


195 


fish from the shores. There is no peace, no quiet, no romance, 
no poetry, no love. Alas! that most of all was wanting; for 
after all, what is it which lights up the heart, save the flame of 
mutual attachment ? what gilds the fair streaiq of life, save the 
bright ray of warm affection ? what ’’ 

In a word,’’ said Power, it is the sugar in the punch-howl 
of our existence. Perge, Sparks, push on.” 

I was not long in making up my mind. I called for my bill ; 
I packed my clothes ; I ordered post horses ; I was ready to start ; 
one item in the bill alone detained me. The frequent occurrence 
of the enigmatical word ‘cur,’ following my servant’s name, 
demanded an explanation, which I was in the act of receiving, 
when a chaise and four drove rapidly to the house. In a moment 
the blinds were drawn up, and Such a head appeared at the 
window! Let me pause for one moment to drink in the remem- 
brance of that lovely being; eyes where heaven’s own blue 
seemed concentrated, were shaded by long deep lashes of the 
darkest brown; a brow fair, noble, and expansive, at each side of 
which masses of dark brown hair waved half in ringlets, half 
in loose falling bands, shadowing her pale and downy cheek, 
where one faint rose-bud tinge seemed lingering; lips slightly 
parted, as though to speak gave to the features all the play of 
animation which completed this intellectual character, and made 
up ” 

“ What I should say was a devilish pretty girl,” interrupted 
Power. 

“ Back the widow against her at long odds any day,” mur- 
mured the Adjutant. 

“ She was an angel, an angel,” cried Sparks, with enthusiasm. 

“ So was the Avidow, if you go to that,” said the Adjutant, 
hastily. 

And so is Matilda Dalrymple,” said Power, with a sly look 
at me. “ We are all honourable men ; eh, Charley ?” 

“ Go ahead with the story,” said the skipper ; “ I’m beginning 
to feel an interest in it.” 

“ ‘ Isabella,’ said a man’s voice, as a large well-dressed person- 
age assisted her to alight, ‘ Isabella, love, you must take a little 
rest here before we proceed further.’ 

“ ‘ I think she had better, sir,’ said a matronly-looking woman 
Avith a plaid cloak and a black bonnet. 

“ They disappeared Avithin the house, and I Avas left alone. 
The bright dream was passed; she Avas there no longer; but in 
my heart her image lived, and I almost felt she was before me. 
I thought I heard her voice ;' I saw her move ; my limbs trem- 
bled ; my hands tingled; I rang the bell, ordered my trunks back 
again to No. 5, and, as I sank upon the sofa, murmured to myself, 
this is indeed love at first sight.” 

“ Hoav devilish sudden it Avas,” said the skipper. 


196 


CHARLES O^MALLEY, 


‘‘ Exactly like camp fever/’ responded the Doctor; ^‘one mo- 
ment ye are vara well ; the next ye are seized wi’ a kind of 
shivering; then comes a kind of mandering, dandering, travelling 
a’overness,” 

D the camp fever,” interrupted Sparks. 

‘‘ Well, as I observed, I fell in love ; and here let me take the 
opportunity of observing that ail that we are in the habit of hear- 
ing about single or only attachments is mere nonsense. No man 
is so capable of feeling deeply as he who is in the daily practice 
of it. Love, like every thing else in this world, demands a 
species of cultivation. The mere tyro in an affair of the heart 
thinks he has exhausted all its pleasures and pains ; but only he 
who has made it his daily study for years, familiarized his mind 
with every phase of the passion, can properly or adequately ap- 
preciate it. Thus, the more you love, the better you love ; the 
more frequently has your heart yielded.” 

“ It’s vara like the mucous membrane,” said the Doctor. 

Fll break your neck with the decanter if you interrupt him 
again !” exclaimed Power. 

“ For days I scarcely ever left the house,” resumed Sparks ; 
‘‘ watching to catch one glance of the lovely Isabella. My farthest 
excursion was to the little garden of the inn, where I used to set 
every imaginable species of snare, in the event of her venturing 
to walk there. One day I would leave a volume of poetry; 
another, a copy of Paul and Virginia with a marked page ; 
sometimes, my guitar, with a broad blue ribbon, would hang 
pensively from a tree ; but alas ! all in vain ; she never appeared. 
At length, I took courage to ask the waiter about her ; for some 
minutes he could not comprehend what I meant ; but, at last, dis- 
covering my object, he cried out, ‘ Oh ! No. 8, sir, it is No. 8 you 
mean.’ 

“ ‘ It may be,’ said I, ‘ what of her then ?’ 

‘‘ ‘ Oh, sir, she’s gone these three days.’ 

‘ Gone,’ said I with a groan. 

“ ‘ Yes, sir ; she left this early on Tuesday with the same old 
gentleman and the old woman in a chaise and four : they ordered 
horses at Dollgelly to meet them ; but I don’t know which road 
they took afterwards.’ 

I fell back on my chair, unable to speak. Here was I enact- 
ing Romeo for three mortal days to a mere company of Welch 
waiters and chambermaids, sighing, serenading, reciting, attitudi- 
nizing, rose-plucking, soliloquizing, half-suiciding ; and all for the 
edification of a set of savages, with about as much civilization as 
their own goats. 

‘‘‘The bill,’ cried I, in a voice of thunder; ‘my bill this 
instant.’ 

“I had been imposed upon shamefully; grossly imposed upon, 
and would not remain another hour in the house. Such were my 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


197 


feelings at least, and so thinking, I sent for my servant, abused 
him for not having my clothes ready packed ; he replied ; I reite- 
rated ; and, as my temper mounted, vented every imaginable 
epithet upon his head, and concluded by paying him his wages, 
and sending him about his business. In one hour more I was 
upon the road. 

(( ( What road, sir V said the postilion, as he mounted into the 
saddle. 

‘‘ ‘ To the devil, if you please,’ said I, throwing myself back in 
the carriage. 

« < Very well, sir,’ replied the boy, putting spurs to his horse. 

That evening I arrived at Bedgellert. 

‘‘ The little humble inn of Bedgellert, with its thatched roof and 
earthen floor, was a most welcome sight to me, after eleven hours’ 
travelling on a broiling July day. Behind the very house itself 
rose the mighty Snowdon, towering high above the other moun- 
tains, whose lofty peaks were lost amid the clouds; before me was 
the narrow valley ” 

“ Wake me up when he’s under way again,” said the skipper, 
yawning fearfully. 

‘‘Go on. Sparks,” said Power, encouragingly, “I was never 
more interested in my life ; eh, O’Malley?” 

“ Quite thrilling,” responded I, and Sparks resumed. 

“ Three weeks did I loiter about that sweet spot, my mind filled 
with images of the past and dreams of the future, my fishing-rod 
my only companion ; not, indeed, that I ever caught any thing ; 
for somehow my tackle was always getting foul of some willow 
tree or water lily, and, at last, I gave up even the pretence of 
whipping the streams. Well, one day, — I remember it as well as 
though it were but yesterday : it was the fourth of August, — I had 
set off* upon an excursion to Llanberris. I had crossed Snowdon 
early, and reached the little lake on the opposite side by breakfast 
time. There I sat down near the ruined tower of Dolbadern, and, 
opening my knapsack, made a hearty meal. 1 have ever been a 
day dreamer ; and there are few things I like better than to lie, 
upon some hot and sunny day, in the tall grass beneath the shade 
of some deep boughs, with running water murmuring near, hear- 
ing the summer bee buzzing monotonously, and at the distance, 
the clear, sharp tinkle of the sheep bell. In such a place, at such 
a time, one’s fancy strays playfully, like some happy child, and 
none but pleasant thoughts present themselves. Fatigued by my 
long walk, and overcome by heat, I fell asleep. How long I lay 
there, I cannot tell, but the deep shadows were halfway down 
the tall mountain when I awoke. A sound had startled me : I 
thought I heard a voice speaking close to me. I looked up, and 
for some seconds I could not believe that I was not dreaming. 
Beside me, within a few paces, stood Isabella, the beautiful vision 
that I had seen at Barmouth, but far, a thousand times, more 

R 2 


198 


CHARLES o’MALLEr, 


beautiful. She was dressed in something like a peasant’s dress, 
and wore the round hat which, in Wales at least, seems to suit the 
character of the female face so well ; her long and waving ringlets 
fell carelessly upon her shoulders, and her cheek flushed from 
walking. Before I had a moment’s notice to recover my roving 
thoughts, she spoke : her voice was full and round, but soft and 
thrilling, as she said — 

‘ I beg pardon, sir, for having disturbed you unconsciously ; 
but, having done so, may I request you will assist me to fill this 
pitcher with water?’ 

‘‘ She pointed at the same time to a small stream which trickled 
down a fissure in the rock, and formed a little well of clear water 
beneath. I bowed deeply, and murmuring something — I know 
not what — took the pitcher from her hand, and scaling the rocky 
cliff*, mounted to the clear source above, where, having filled the 
vessel, I descended. When I reached the ground beneath, I dis- 
covered that she was joined by another person, whom, in an 
instant, I recognised to be the old gentleman I had seen with her 
at Barmouth, and who in the most courteous manner apologized 
for the trouble I had been caused, and informed me that a party 
of his friends were enjoying a little pic-nic quite near, and invited 
me to make one of them. 

“ I need not say that I accepted the invitation, nor that with de- 
light I seized the opportunity of forming an acquaintance with 
Isabella, who, I must confess, upon her part, showed no disincli- 
nation to the prospect of my joining the party. 

“ After a few minutes’ walking, we came to a small rocky point 
which projected for some distance into the lake, and offered a view 
for several miles of the vale of Llanberris. Upon this lovely spot 
we found the party assembled : they consisted of about fourteen or 
fifteen persons, all busily engaged in the arrangement of a very 
excellent cold dinner, each individual having some peculiar pro- 
vince allotted to him or her to be performed by their own hands. 
Thus, one elderly gentleman was whipping cream under a chestnut 
tree ; while a very fashionably-dressed young man was washing 
radishes in the lake ; an old lady with spectacles was frying 
salmon over a wood fire, opposite to a short pursy man with a bald 
head and drab shorts, deep in the mystery of a chicken salad, from 
which he never lifted his eyes, when I came up. It was thus I 
found how the fair Isabella’s lot had been cast, as a drawer of water ; 
she, with the others, contributing her share of exertion for the 
common good. The old gentleman who accompanied her seemed 
the only unoccupied person, and appeared to be regarded as the 
ruler of the feast ; at least, they all called him General, and impli- 
citly followed every suggestion he threw out. He was a man of a 
certain grave and quiet manner, blended with a degree of mild 
good-nature and courtesy, that struck me much at first, and gained 
greatly on me, even in the few minutes I conversed with him as 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


199 


we came along. Just before he presented me to his friends, 
he gently touched my arm, and, drawing me aside, whispered in 
my ear, 

‘‘ Don’t be surprised at any thing you may hear to-day here ; 
for I must inform you, this is a kind of club, as I may call it, 
where every one assumes a certain character, and is bound to sus- 
tain it under a penalty. We have these little meetings every now 
and then ; and, as strangers are never present, I feel some explana- 
tion necessary, that you may be able to enjoy the thing ; you un- 
derstand ?” 

‘‘Oh, perfectly,” said I, overjoyed at the novelty of the scene, and 
anticipating much pleasure from my chance meeting with such 
very original characters. 

“ ‘ Mr. Sparks, Mrs. Winterbottom. Allow me to present Mr. 
Sparks.’ 

“ ‘ Any news from Batavia, young gentleman ?’ said the sallow 
old lady addressed. ‘ How is coffee ?’ 

“ The General passed on, introducing me rapidly as he went. 

“ ‘ Mr. Doolittle, Mr. Sparks.’ 

“ ‘ Ah, how do you do, old boy ?” said Mr. Doolittle ; ‘ sit down 
beside me. We have forty thousand acres of pickle cabbage spoil- 
ing for want of a little vinegar.’ 

“ ‘ Fie, fie, Mr. Doolittle,’ said the General, and passed on to an- 
other. 

“‘ Mr. Sparks, Captain Crosstree.’ 

“ ‘ Ah, Sparks, Sparks, son of Old Blazes ! ha, ha, ha^’ and the 
captain fell back into an immoderate fit of laughter. 

“ ‘ Le Roi est servi,^ said the thin meager figure in nankeens, 
bowing cap in hand before the General ; and, accordingly, we all 
assumed our places upon the grass. 

“‘Say it again; say it again ! and I’ll plunge this dagger in 
your heart !’ said a hollow voice, tremulous with agitation and 
rage, close beside me. I turned my head, and saw an old gentle- 
man with a wart on his nose, sitting opposite a meat pie, 
which he was contemplating with a look of fiery indignation. 
Before I could witness the sequel of the scene, I felt a soft hand 
pressed upon mine. I turned. It was Isabella herself, who look- 
ing at me with an expression I shall never forget, said, 

“ ‘ Don’t mind poor Faddy ; he never hurts any one.’ 

“ Meanwhile the business of dinner went on rapidly : the ser- 
vants, of whom enormous numbers were now present, ran hither 
and thither ; and duck, ham, pigeon-pie, cold veal, apple tarts, 
cheese, pickled salmon, melon and rice-pudding, flourished on 
every side. As for me, whatever I might have gleaned from the 
conversation around, under other circumstances, I was too much 
occupied with Isabella to think of any one else. My suit — -for 
such it was — ^progressed rapidly. There was evidently something 
favourable in the circumstances we last met under ; for her man- 


200 


CHARLES o’m ALLEY, 


ner had all the warmth and cordiality of old friendship. It is 
true, that more than once I caught the GeneraPs eye fixed upon 
us, with any thing but an expression of pleasure, and I thought 
that Isabella blushed and seemed confused also. What care I ? 
however, was my reflection ; my views are honourable, and the 

nephew and heir of Sir Toby Sparks Just in the very act 

of making this reflection, the old man in the shorts hit me in the 
eye with a roasted apple, calling out at the moment, 

‘ When did you join, thou child of the pale faces ?” 

“ ‘ Mr. Murdocks,^ cried the General in a voice of thunder, and 
the little man hung down his head, and spoke not. 

word with you, young gentleman,’ said a fat old lady, 
pinching my arm above the elbow. 

Never mind her,’ said Isabella, smiling; ‘poor dear old 
Dorking, she thinks she’s an hour-glass ; how droll, isn’t it ?’ 

“ ‘ Young man, have you any feelings of humanity ?’ inquired the 
old lady, with tears in her eyes as she spoke, ‘ will you, dare you 
assist a fellow-creature under my sad circumstances ?’ 

“ ‘ What can I do for you, madam ?’ said I, really feeling for her 
distress. 

“ ‘Just, like a good dear soul, just turn me up, for I’m just run 
out.’ 

“ Isabella burst out a laughing at this strange request, an excess 
which, I confess, I was unable myself to repress : upon which the old 
lady putting on a frown of most ominous blackness, said, 

“ ‘ You may laugh, madam ; but first, before you ridicule the 
misfortunes of others, ask yourself are you too free from infirmity ? 
When did you see the ace of spades ? Madam, answer me that.’ 

“ Isabella became suddenly pale as death, her very lips blanch- 
ed ; and her voice, almost inaudible, muttered, 

“ ‘ Am I then deceived ? Is not this he ?’ so saying, she 
placed her hand upon my shoulder. 

“ ‘ That the ace of spades !’ exclaimed the old lady, with a sneer : 
^ that the ace of spades !’ 

“ ‘ Are you, or are you not, sir,’ said Isabella, fixing her deep 
and languid eyes upon me ; ‘ answer, as you are honest, are you 
the ace of spades ?’ 

“ ‘ He is the King of Tuscarora ; look at his war paint,’ cried an 
elderly gentleman, putting a streak of mustard across my nose and 
cheek. 

“ ‘ Then am I deceived,’ said Isabella ; and, flying at me, she 
plucked a handful of hair out of my whiskers. 

“ ‘ Cuckoo, cuckoo,’ shouted one ; ‘ bow, wow, wow,’ roared 
another ; ‘phiz,’ went a third ; and, in an instant, such a scene of 
commotion and riot ensued ; plates, dishes, knives, forks, and de- 
canters flew right and left ; every one pitched into his neighbour 
with the most fearful cries, and hell itself seemed broke loose ; the 
hour-glass and the Moulah of Oude had got me down, and were 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


201 


pummelling me to death, when a short thickset man came on all- 
fours slap down upon them, shouting out, ‘ Way, make way for the 
royal Bengal tiger,’ at which they both fled like lightning, leaving 
me to the encounter single-handed. Fortunately, however, this was 
not of very long duration, for some well-disposed Christians pulled 
him from off me ; not, however, before he had seized me in his 
grasp, and bitten off a portion of my right ear, leaving me, as you 
see, thus mutilated for the rest of my days.” 

“ What an extraordinary club !” broke in the Doctor. 

Club ! sir, club ! it was a lunatic asylum. The General was 
no other than the famous Doctor Andrew Moorville, that had the 
great madhouse at Bangor, and who was in the habit of giving his 
patients every now and then a kind of country party ; it being one 
remarkable feature of their malady that, when one takes to his pe- 
culiar flight, whatever it be, the others immediately take the hint, 
and go off at score : hence my agreeable adventure ; the Bengal 
tiger being a Liverpool merchant and the most vicious madman in 
England ; while the hour-glass and the Moulah were both on an 
experimental tour to see whether they should not be: pronounced 

totally incurable for life ” 

‘‘ And Isabella ?” inquired Power. 

Ah ! poor Isabella had been driven mad by a card-playing 
aunt at Bath, and was in fact the most hopeless case there. The 
last words I heard her speak confirmed my mournful impression 
of her case. 

“ ‘ Yes,’ said she, as they removed her to her carriage, ‘ I must, 
indeed, have but weak intellects, when I could have taken the 
nephew of a Manchester cotton-spinner, with a face like a printed 
calico, for a trump card, and the best in the pack !’ ” 

Poor Sparks uttered these last words with a faltering accent, and, 
finishing his glass at one draught, withdrew without wishing us 
good night. 


26 


202 


CHARLES o’mALLEY. 


CHAPTER XXXIir. 

THE SKIPPER. 

In such like gossipings passed our days away, for our voyage 
itself had nothing of adventure or incident to break its dull mono- 
tony ; save some few hours of calm, we had been steadily follow- 
ing our seaward track with a fair breeze, and the long pennant 
pointed ever to the land, where our ardent expectations were hurry- 
ing before it. 

The latest accounts which had reached us from the Peninsula, 
told that our regiment was almost daily engaged ; and we burned 
with impatience to share with the others the glory they were reaping. 
Power, who had seen service, felt less on this score than we who 
had not ^‘fleshed bur maiden swords;’’ but even he sometimes 
gave way ; and, when the wind fell, towards sunset, he would 
break out into some exclamation of discontent, half fearing we 
should be too late ; “ for,” said he, ‘‘ if they continue in this 
way, the regiment will be relieved, and ordered home before we 
reach it.” 

Never fear, my boys ; you’ll have enough of it. Both sides 
like the work too well to give in ; they’ve got a capital ground and 
plenty of spare time,” said the Major. 

“ Only to think,” cried Power, that we should be lounging 
away our idle hours, when these gallant fellows are in the saddle, 
late and early. It is too bad ; eh, O’Malley ? you’ll not be pleased 
to go back with the polish on your sabre. What will Lucy Dash- 
wood say ?” 

This was the first allusion Power had ever made to her, and I 
became red to the very forehead. 

“ By the by,” added he, “ I have a letter for Hammersly, which 
should rather have been intrusted to your keeping.” 

At these words I felt cold as death, while he continued : 

Poor fellow ; certainly he is most desperately smitten ; for, 
mark me, When a man at his age takes the malady, it is forty times 
as severe as with a younger fellow, like you. But then, to be sure, 
he began at the wrong end in the matter : why commence with 
papa ? A¥hen a man has his own consent for liking a girl, he must 
be a contemptible fellow if he can’t get her ; and, as to any thing 
else being wanting, I don’t understand it. But the moment you 
begin by influencing the heads of the house, good-bye to your 
chances with the dear thing herself, if she have any spirit what- 
ever. It is in fact calling on her to surrender without the honours 
of war; and what girl would stand that ?” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


203 


It’s vara true,” said the Doctor, “ there’s a strong speerit of 
opposition in the sex, from physiological causes.” 

‘‘ Curse your physiology, old Galen : what you call opposition, 
is that piquant resistance to oppression that makes half the charm 
of the sex. It is with them — with reverence be it spoken — ^as 
with horses : the dull, heavy-shouldered ones that bore away with 
the bit in their teeth, never caring whether you are pulling to the 
right or to the left, are worth nothing : the real luxury is in the 
management of your arching necked curveter, springing from side 
to side with every motion of your wrist, madly bounding at re- 
straint ; yet, to the practised hand, held in check with a silk thread; 
eh. Skipper : am I not right ?” 

Wei), I can’t say I’ve had much to do with horse beasts, but 
I believe you’re not far wrong. The lively craft that answers the 
helm quick, goes round well in stays ; luffs up close within a point 
or two, Avhen you want her ; is always a good sea boat, even 
though she pitches and rolls a bit ; but the heavy lugger that never 
knows whether your helm is up or down ; whether she’s off the 
wind or on it ; is only fit for firewood : you can do nothing 
with a ship or woman, if she hasn’t got steerage way on her.” 

“ Come, Skipper, we’ve all been telling our stories ; let us hear 
one of yours ?” 

“ My yarn won’t come so well after your sky-scrapers of love and 
courting, and all that : but, if you like to hear what happened to 
me once, I have no objection to tell you. 

I often think how little we know of what’s going to happen 
to us any minute of our lives. To-day we have the breeze fair 
in our favour ; Ave are going seven knots, studding-sails set, smooth 
Avater, and plenty of sea room ; to-morrow the Avind freshens to 
half a gale, the sea gets up, a rocky coast is seen from the lee bow, 
and maybe — to add to all — we spring a leak forward ; but then, 
after all, bad as it looks, mayhap, Ave rub through even this, and, with 
the next day, the prospect is as bright and cheering as ever. You’ll, 
perhaps, ask me what has all this moralizing to do with women 
and ships at sea? Nothing at all with them, except that I was 
going to say that Avhen matters look worst, very often the best is 
in store for us, and we should never say strike when there is a 
timber together. — N oav for my story. 

It’s about four years ago, I Avas strolling one evening down the 
side of the harbour at Cove, Avith my hands in my pocket, having 
nothing to do, nor no prospect of it, for my last ship had been 
wrecked off the Bermudas, and nearly all the crew lost ; and, 
somehow, when a man is in misfortune, the underwriters won’t 
have him at no price. Well, there I was looking about me at the 
craft that lay on every side Availing for a fair Avind to run down 
channel. All was active and busy ; every one getting his vessel 
ship-shape and tidy, tarring, painting, mending sails, stretching 
new bunting, and getting in sea store ; boats were plying on every 


204 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


side, signals flying, guns firing from the men-of-war, and every 
thing was lively as might be ; all but me. There I was, like an 
old water-logged timber-ship, never moving a spar, but looking 
for all the world as though I were settling fast to go down stern 
foremost; maybe as howl had no objection to that same; but 
that’s neither here nor there. Well, I sat down on the fluke of 
an anchor, and began a thinking if it wasn’t better to go before 
the mast than live on that way. Just before me, where I sat 
down, there was an old schooner that lay moored in the same 
place for as long as I could remember ; she was there when I 
was a boy, and never looked a bit the fresher nor newer as long 
as I recollected ; her old bluff bows, her high poop, her round 
stern, her flush deck, all Dutch like, I knew them well, and many 
a time I delighted to think what queer kind of a chap he was that 
first set her on the stocks, and pondered in what trade she ever 
could have been. All the sailors about the port used to call her 
Noak’s Ark, and swear she was the identical craft that he stowed 
away all the wild beasts in during the rainy season : be that as 
it might, since I fell into misfortune I got to feel a liking for the 
old schooner : she was like an old friend ; she never changed to 
me, fair weather or foul ; there she was just the same as thirty 
years before, when all the world were forgetting and steering wide 
away from me. Every morning I used to go down to the harbour 
and have a look at her, just to see that all was right, and nothing 
stirred : and, if it blew very hard at night, I’d get up and go 
down to look how she weathered it, just as if I was at sea in her. 
Now and then I got some of the watermen to row me aboard of 
her, and leave me there for a few hours, when I used to be quite 
happy walking the deck, holding the old worm-eaten wheel, look- 
ing out ahead, and going down below, just as though I was in 
command of her. Day after day, this habit grew on me, and at 
last my whole life was spent in watching her and looking after 
her : there was something so much alike in our fortunes, that I 
always thought of her. Like myself, she had had her day of life 
and activity ; we had both braved the storm and the breeze ; her 
shattered bulwarks and worn cut-water attested that she had, like 
myself, not escaped her calamities. We both had survived our 
dangers, to be neglected and forgotten, and to lie rotting on the 
stream of life till the crumbling hand of time should break us up, 
timber by timber. Is it any wonder if I loved the old craft ; nor 
if, by any chance, the idle boys would venture aboard of her to play 
and amuse themselves, that I hallooed them away ; or, when a 
newly-arrived ship, not caring for the old boat, would run foul 
of her, and carry away some spar or piece of running rigging, 
I would suddenly call out to them to sheer off, and not damage 
us? By degrees they came all to notice this; and I found that 
they thought me out of my senses, and many a trick was played 
off upon old Noah, for that was the name the sailors gave me. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


205 


Well, this evening, as I was saying, I sat upon the fluke of 
the anchor, waiting for a chance boat to put me aboard. It was 
past, sun-set, the tide was ebbing, and the old craft was surging to 
the fast current that run by with a short impatient jerk, as though 
she were well weary, and wished to be at rest : her loose back- 
stays creaked mournfully, and, as she yawed over, the sea ran 
from many a breach in her worn sides, like blood trickling from 
a wound. Ay, ay, thought I, the hour is not far off : another 
stift' gale, and all that remains of you will be found high and dry 
upon the shore. My heart was very heavy as I thought of this ; 
for, in my loneliness, the Old Ark — though that was not her name, 
as ril tell you presently — was all the companion I had. Pve 
heard of a poor prisoner who, for many and many years, watched 
a spider that wove his web within his window, and never lost 
sight of him from morning till night ; and, somehow, I can believe 
it well the heart will cling to something, and if it has no lining 
object to press to, it will find a lifeless one : it can no more stand 
alone than the shrouds can without the mast. The evening wore 
on, as I was thinking thus ; the moon shone out, but no boat 
came, and I was just determining to go home again for the night, 
when I saw two men standing on the steps of the wharf below 
me, and looking straight at the Ark. Now, I must tell you, I always 
felt uneasy when any one came to look at her, for I began to fear 
that some ship-owner or other would buy her to break up, though, 
except the copper fastenings, there was little of any value about 
her. Now, the moment I saw the two figures stop short and point 
to her, I said to myself, ‘ Ah ! my old girl, so they won’t even let 
the blue water finish you, but they must set their carpenters and 
dock-yard people to work upon you. This thought grieved me 
more and more. Had a stiff sou-wester laid her over, I should 
have felt it was natural, for her sand was run out : but, just as 
this passed through my mind, I heard a voice from one of the 
persons that I at once knew to be the Port Admiral’s ; 

“ ‘ Well, Dawkins,’ said he to the other, ^ if you think she’ll hold 
together, I’m sure I’ve no objection I don’t like the job, I con- 
fess, but still the Admiralty must be obeyed.’ 

^ Oh, my Lord,’ said the other, ‘ she’s the very thing ; she’s a 
rakish-looking craft, and will do admirably ; any repair we want, 
a few days will effect : secrecy is the great thing.’ 

^‘‘Yes,” said the Admiral, after a pause, ‘as you observed, 
secrecy is the great thing.’ 

“ Ho ! ho ! thought I, there’s something in the wind here ; so 
I laid myself out upon the anchor stock to listen better unobserved. 

‘ We must find a crew for her, give her a few carronades, make 
her as ship-shape as we can, and, if the skipper— ‘ Ay, but there 
is the real difficulty,’ said the Admiral, hastily, ‘ where we are to 
find the fellow that will suit us ? we can’t every day find a man 

S 


206 CHARLES o’mALLEY, 

willing to jeopardy himself in such a cause as this, even though the 
reward be a great one.’ 

« < Very true, my Lord ; but I don’t think there is any necessity 
for our explaining to him the exact nature of the service.’ 

‘‘ ‘ Come, come, Dawkins, you can’t mean that you’ll lead a poor 
fellow into such a scrape blind-folded ?’ 

« < Why, my Lord, you never think it requisite to give a plan 
of your cruise to your ship’s crew before clearing out of harbour ; 
they are no worse off’ than we shall be.’ 

‘‘‘This may be perfectly just, but I don’t like it,’ said the 
Admiral. 

“ ‘ In that case, my Lord, you are imparting the secrets of the 
Admiralty to a party who may betray the whole plot.’ 

“ ‘ I wish with all my soul they’d given the order to any one 
else,’ said the Admiral, with a sigh ; and, for a few moments, 
neither spoke a word. 

“ ‘Well, then, Dawkins, I believe there is nothing for it but 
what you say ; meanwhile, let the repairs be got in hand, and see 
after a crew.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, as to that,’ said the other, ‘ there are plenty of scoundrels 
in the fleet here fit for nothing else. Any fellow who has been 
thrice up for punishment in six months. We’ll draft on board of 
her ; the fellows who have only been once to the gangway, we’ll 
make the officers.’ 

“ A pleasant ship’s company, thought I, if the devil would only 
take the command. 

“ ‘ And with a skipper proportionate to her merit,’ said Daw- 
kins. 

“ ‘ Begad, I’ll wish the French joy of them,’ said the Admiral. 

“ Ho, ho ! thought I, I’ve found you out at last ; so this is a 
secret expedition ; I see it all : they’re fitting her out as a fire-ship, 
and going to send her slap in among the French fleet at Brest. 
Well, thought I, even that’s better ; that, at least, is a glorious end, 
though the poor fellows have no chance of escape. 

“‘Now then,’ said the Admiral, ‘to-morrow you’ll look out for 
the fellow to take the command : he must be a smart seaman, a 
bold fellow, top, otherwise the ruffianly crew will be too much for 
him ; he may bid high, we’ll come to his price.’ 

“ So you may, thought I, when you are buying his life. 

“ ‘ I hope sincerely,’ continued the Admiral, ‘ that we may light 
upon some one without wife or child ; I never could forgive my- 
self ’ 

“ ‘ Never fear, my Lord,’ said the other ; ‘ my care shall be to 
pitch upon one whose loss no one would feel ; some one without 
friend or home, who, setting his life for naught, cares less for the 
gain than the very recklessness of the adventure.’ 

“ ‘ That’s me,’ said I, springing up from the anchor-stock, and 
springing between them ; ‘ I’m that man.’ 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


207 


“ Had the very devil himself appeared at the moment, I doubt 
if they would have been more scared. The Admiral started a 
pace or two backwards, while Dawkins, the first surprise over, 
seized me by the collar, and held me fast. 

“ ‘ Who are you, scoundrel, and what brings you here ?’ said he, 
in a voice hoarse with passion. 

“ ‘ I’m Old Noah,’ said I ; for, somehow, I had been called by 
no other name for so long, I never thought of my real one. 

‘‘‘Noah!’ said the Admiral, ‘Noah! Well, but, Noah, what 
were you doing down here at this time of night ?’ 

“ ‘ I was a watching the Ark, my Lord,’ said I, bowing, as I 
took otf my hat. 

“ ‘ I’ve heard of this fellow before, my Lord,’ said Dawkirls ; 
‘he’s a poor lunatic that is always wandering about the harbour, 
and, I believe, has no harm in him.’ 

“‘Yes, but he has been listening, doubtless, to our conversa- 
tion,’ said the Admiral. ‘ Eh, have you heard all we have been 
saying ?’ 

“ ‘ Every word of it, my Lord. 

“At this the Admiral and Dawkins looked steadfastly at each 
other for some minutes, but neither spoke ; at last Dawkins said, 
‘Well, Noah, I’ve been told you are a man to be depended on: 
may we rely upon your not repeating any thing you overheard 
this evening ; at least for a year to come ?’ 

“‘You may,’ said I. 

“ ‘But, Dawkins,’ said the Admiral, in half whisper, ‘if the poor 
fellow be mad ?’ 

“ ‘ My Lord,’ said I, boldly, ‘ I am not mad. Misfortune and 
calamity I have had enough to make me so ; but, thank God, my 
brain has been tougher than my poor heart. I was once the part 
owner and commander of a goodly craft that swept the sea, if not 
with a broad pennon at her mast head, with as light a spirit as ever 
lived beneath one. I was rich ; I had a home and a child : I am 
now poor, houseless, childless, friendless, and outcast. If, in my 
solitary wretchedness, I have loved to look upon that old bark, it 
is because its fortune seemed like my own. It had outlived all 
that needed or cared for it ; for this reason have they thought me 
mad, though there are those, and not few either, who can well 
bear testimony if stain or reproach lie at my door, and if I can 
be reproached with aught save bad luck. I have heard, by chance, 
what you have said this night ; I know that you are fitting out a 
secret expedition; I know its dangers, its inevitable dangers; 
and I here offer myself to lead it ; I ask no reward ; I look for no 
price. Alas ! who is left to me for whom I could labour now ? 
Give me but the opportunity to end my days with honour on board 
the old craft where my heart still clings: give me but that. Well, 
if you will not do so much, let me serve among the crew ; put me 
before the mast. My Lord, you’ll not refuse this ; it is an old 


208 CHARLES o’mALLEY, 

man asks, one whose gray hairs have floated many a year ago 
before, the breeze.’ 

‘‘ ‘My poor fellow, you know not what you ask: this is no com- 
mon case of danger.’ 

“ ‘ I know it all, my Lord : I have heard it all.’ 

“ ‘ Dawkins, what is to he done here ?’ inquired the Admiral. 

“ ‘ I say, friend,’ inquired Dawkins, laying his hand upon my 
arm, ‘ what is your real name ? Are you he that commanded the 
Dwarf privateer in the Isle of France ?’ 

“‘The same.’ 

“ ‘ Then you are known to Lord Colling wood ?’ 

“ ‘ He knows me well, and can speak to my character.’ 

“ ‘What he says of himself is all true, my Lord.’ 

“ ‘ True,’ said I, ‘ true ! you did not doubt it, did you?’ 

“ ‘ We,’ said the Admiral, ‘must speak together again ; be here 
to-morrow night at this hour, keep your own counsel of what has 
passed, and, now, good night.’ So saying, the Admiral took Daw- 
kins by the arm, and returned slowly towards the town, leaving 
me, where I stood, meditating on this singular meeting, and its 
possible consequences. 

“ The whole of the following day was passed by me in a state 
of feverish excitement which I cannot describe ; this strange ad- 
venture breaking in so suddenly upon the dull monotony of my 
daily existence, had so aroused and stimulated me, that I could 
neither rest nor eat. How I longed for night to come ; for, some- 
times, as the day wore later, I began to fear that the whole scene 
of my meeting with the Admiral had been merely some excited 
dream of a tortured and fretted mind ; and, as I stood examining 
the ground where I believed the interview to have occurred, I 
endeavoured to recall the position of different objects as they stood 
around, to corroborate my own failing rememberance. 

“ At last the evening closed in ; but, unlike the preceding one, 
the sky was covered with masses of dark and watery cloud, that 
drifted hurriedly across ; the air felt heavy and thick, and unnatu- 
rally still and calm ; the water of the harbour looked of a dull 
leaden hue, and all the vessels seemed larger than they were, and 
stood out from the landscape more clearly than usual; now and then 
a low rumbling noise was heard, somewhat alike in sound, but far 
too faint for distant thunder ; while, occasionally, the boats and 
smaller craft rocked to and fro, as though some ground swell stirred 
them without breaking the languid surface of the sea above. 

“ A few drops of thick heavy rain fell just as the darkness came 
on, and then all felt still and calm as before. I sat upon the anchor 
stock, my eyes fixed upon the Old Ark, until gradually her out- 
line grew fainter and fainter against the dark sky, and her 
black hull could scarcely be distinguished from the water be- 
neath. I felt that I was looking towards her; for, long after, 
I had lost sight of the tall mast and high-pitched bowsprit, and 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


209 


feared to turn away my head, lest I should lose the place where 
she lay. 

“The time went slowly on, and, although in reality I had not 
been long there, I felt as if years themselves had passed over my 
head. Since I had come there, my mind brooded over all the mis- 
fortunes of my life ; as I contrasted its outset, bright with hope 
and rich in promise, with the sad reality, my heart grew heavy, 
and my chest heaved painfully ; so sunk was I in my reflection, 
so lost in thought, that I never knew that the storm had broken 
loose, and that the heavy rain was falling in torrents. The very 
ground, parched with long drought, smoked as it pattered upon it, 
while the low wailing cry of the sea-gull, mingled with the deep 
growl of far-off thunder, told that the night was a fearful one for 
those at sea. Wet through and shivering, I sat still, now listening, 
amid the noise of the hurricane and the creaking of the cordage, 
for any footstep to approach ; and, now, relapsing back into a half- 
despairing dread that my heated brain alone had conjured up the 
scene of the day before. Such were my dreary reflections, when 
a loud crash aboard the schooner told me that some old spar had 
given way. I strained my eyes through the dark to see what had 
happened, but in vain ; the black vapour, thick with falling rain, 
obscured every thing, and all was hid from view. I could hear 
that she worked violently, as the waves beat against her worn 
sides, and that her iron cable creaked as she pitched to the break- 
ing sea. The wind was momentarily increasing, and I began to 
fear lest I should have taken my last look at the old craft, when 
my attention was called of by hearing a loud cry out, ‘ Halloo 
there ! Where are you ?’ 

“‘Ay, ay, sir, I’m here.’ In a moment the Admiral and his 
friend was beside me. 

“ ‘ What a night !’ exclaimed the Admiral, as he shook the rain 
from the heavy boat cloak, and cowered in beneath some tall 
blocks of granite near. ‘ I began half to hope that might not have 
been my poor fellow,’ said the Admiral ; ‘ it’s a dreadful time for 
one so poorly clad for a storm ; I say, Dawkins, let him have a 
pull at your flask.’ The brandy rallied me a little, and I felt that 
it cheered my drooping courage. 

“ ‘ This is not a time nor is it a place, for much parley,’ said the 
Admiral ; ‘ so that we must even make ^hort work of it. Since 
we met here last night, I have satisfied myself that you are to be 
trusted, that your character and reputation have nothing heavier 
against them than misfortune, which, certainly, if I have been 
rightly informed, has been largely dealt out to you. Now, then, 
I am willing to accept of your offer of service, if you are still of 
the same mind as when you made it, and if you are willing to 
undertake what we have to do, without any question and inquiry, 
as to points on which we must not and dare not inform you. 
Whatever you may have overheard last night, may or may not 
27 s2 


210 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


have put you in possession of our secret. If the former, your de- 
termination can be made at once ; if the latter, you have only to 
decide whether you are ready to go blindfolded in the business.’" 

‘ I am ready, my Lord,’ said I. 

^^^You perhaps are then aware what is the nature of the ser- 
vice ?’ 

^ I know it not,’ said I. ‘ All that I heard, sir, leads me to 
suppose it one of danger, but that’s all.’ 

‘ I think, my Lord,’ said Dawkins, ‘ that no more need now 
be said. Guppies is ready to engage, we are equally so to accept ; 
the thing is pressing. When can you sail ?’ 

‘ To-night,’ said I, ^if you will.’ 

^ Really, Dawkins,’ said the Admiral, ‘ I don’t see why ’ 

“ ‘ My Lord, I beg of you,’ said the other interrupting, ‘ let me 
now complete the arrangement. This is the plan,’ said he, turning 
towards me as he spoke ; — ‘ as soon as that old craft can be got 
ready for sea, or some other, if she be not worth it, you will sail 
from this port with a strong crew, well armed and supplied with 
ammunition. Your destination is Malta, your object to deliver to 
the Admiral stationed there the despatches with which you will be 
intrusted : they contain information of immense importance, 
which, for certain reasons, cannot he sent through a ship of war, 
hut must be forwarded by a vessel that may not attract peculiar 
notice. If you be attacked, your orders are to resist ; if you be 
taken, on no account destroy the papers, for the French vessel can 
scarcely escape recapture from our frigates, and it is of great 
consequence that these papers should remain. Such is a brief 
sketch of our plan ; the details can be made known to you here- 
after.’ 

“ ‘ I am quite ready, my Lord : I ask for no terms ; I make no 
stipulations. If the result be favourable, it will be time enough 
to speak of that. When am I to sail ?’ 

‘^As I spoke, the Admiral turned suddenly round, and said 
something in a whisper to Dawkins, who appeared to overrule it, 
whatever it might be, and finally brought him over to his own 
opinion. 

‘ Come, Guppies,’ said Dawkins, ‘ the affair is now settled, 
to-morrow a boat will be in waiting for you opposite Spike Island, 
to convey you on board the Semiramis, where every step in the 
whole business shall be explained to you ; meanwhile, you have 
only to keep your own counsel, and trust the secret to no one.’ 

‘ Yes, Guppies,’ said the Admiral, ‘ we rely upon you for that, 
so good night.’ As he spoke he placed within my hands a crumpled 
note for ten pounds, and, squeezing my fingers, departed. 

'' My yarn is spinning out to a far greater length than I intended, 
so I’ll try and shorten it a bit. The next day I went on board the 
Semiramis, where, when I appeared upon the quarter-deck, I found 
myself an object of some interest. The report that I was the 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


211 


man about to command the ‘ Brian’ — that was the real name of the 
old craft — had caused some curiosity among the officers, and they 
all spoke to me with great courtesy. After waiting a short time, 
I was ordered to go below, where the Admiral, his Flag-captain 
Dawkins, and the others were seated. They repeated at greater 
length the conversation of the night before, and finally decided that 
I was to sail in three weeks ; for, although the old schooner was 
sadly damaged, they lost no time, but had her already high in 
dock, with two hundred ship carpenters at work upon her. 

“ I do not shorten sail here to tell you what reports were circu- 
lated about Cove, as to my extraordinary change in circumstances, 
nor how I bore my altered fortunes. It is enough that I say that, 
in less than three weeks, I weighed anchor, and stood out to sea 
one beautiful morning in autumn, and set out upon my expedition. 

“I have already told you something of the craft. Let me 
complete the picture by informing you that, before twenty-four 
hours passed over, I discovered that so ungainly, so awkward, so 
unmanageable a vessel never was put to sea : in light winds 
she scarcely stirred, or moved as if she were water-logged ; if it 
came to blow upon the quarter, she fell off from her helm at a 
fearful rate ; in wearing, she endangered every spar she had, and, 
when you put her in stays, when half round she would fall back, 
and nearly carry away every stitch of canvass with the shock. 
If the ship was bad, the crew was ten times worse. What Dawkins 
said turned out to be literally true ; every ill-conducted, disorderly 
fellow who had been up the gangway once a week or so, every 
unreclaimed landsman of bad character and no seamanship, was 
sent on board of us ; and, in fact, except that there was scarcely 
any discipline and no restraint, we appeared like a floating peni- 
tentiary of convicted felons. 

So long as Ave ran down channel Avith a slack sea and fair 
Aviiid, so long all Avent on tolerably Avell ; to be sure, they only 
kept Avatch Avhen they tired beloAv, and reeled about the deck, 
Avent doAvn beloAV, and all just as they pleased, and treated me 
Avith no manner of respect. After some vain efforts to repress 
their excesses — ^vain, for I had no one to second me — I appeared 
to take no notice of their misconduct, and contented myself Avith 
Avaiting for the lime Avhen, my dreary voyage over, I should quit 
the command, and part company Avith such associates forever. 
At last, however, it came on to bloAV, and the night Ave passed the 
Lizard Avas indeed a fearful one. As morning broke, a sCva running 
mountains high ; a Avind strong from the north-Avest, Avas hurrying 
the old craft along at a rate I believed impossible. I shall not 
stop to recount the frightful scene of anarchy, confusion, drunken- 
ness, and insubordination Avhich our crcAV exhibited ; the recollec- 
tion is too bad already, and I Avould spare you and myself the 
recital ; but, on the fourth day from the setting in of the gale, as 
Ave entered tlie Bay of Biscay, some one aloft descried a strange 


212 


CHARLES o’mALLEY. 


sail to windward, bearing down aS if in pursuit of us. Scarcely 
did the news reach the deck, when, bad as it was before, matters 
became new ten times worse, some resolved to give themselves 
up, if the chase happened to be French, and vowing that before 
surrendering, the spirit-room should be forced and every man let 
drink as he pleased. Others proposed if there was any thing like 
equality in the force, to attack, and convert the captured vessel, 
if they succeeded, into a slaver, and sail at once for Africa. Some 
were for blowing up the old ‘ Brian’ with all on board ; and, in 
fact, every counsel that drunkenness, insanity, and crime combined 
could suggest was offered and descanted on. Meanwhile the chase 
gained rapidly upon us, and before noon Ave discovered her to be 
a French letter of marque, with four guns, and a long brass swivel 
upon the poop deck. As for us, every sheet of canvass we could 
crowd was crammed on, but in vain ; and, as we laboured through 
the heavy sea, our riotous crew grcAV every moment worse, and, 
sitting down sulkily in groups upon the deck, declared that, come 
what might, they would neither Avork the ship nor fight her ; that 
they had been sent to sea in a rotten craft, merely to effect their 
destruction, and that they cared little for the disgrace of a flag 
they detested. Half furious Avith the taunting sarcasm I heard on 
every side, and nearly mad from passion, and beAvildered, my first 
impulse Avas to rush in amongst them Avith my draAvn cutlass, and, 
ere I fell their victim, take heavy vengeance upon the ringleaders, 
when suddenly a sharp booming noise came thundering along, 
and a round shot Avent flying over our heads. 

‘^‘Down Avith the ensign; strike at once,’ cried eight or ten 
Voices together, as the ball Avhizzed through the rigging. Anticipat- 
ing this, and resolving, Avhatever might happen, to fight her to the 
last, I had made the mate, a staunch-hearted resolute felloAv, to 
make fast the signal sailyard aloft, so that it was impossible for 
any ond on deck to loAver the bunting. Bang Ayent another gun, 
and, before the smoke cleared aAvay, a third ; Avhich, truer in its 
aim than the rest, Avent clean through the lower part of our main- 
sail. 

‘ Steady then, boys, and clear for action,’ said the mate. ^ She’s 
a French smuggling craft, that Avill shear off Avhen Ave show fight, 
so that Ave must not fire a shot till she comes alongside.’ 

“ ‘ And harkee, lads,’ said I, taking up the tone of encourage- 
ment he spoke with, ‘ if we take her, I promise to claim nothing 
of the prize. Whatever Ave capture you shall divide amongst 
yourselves.’ 

“ ‘ It’s very easy to divide Avhat Ave never had,’ said one ; 
‘ nearly as easy as to give it,’ cried another : ‘ I’ll never light match 
or draAV cutlass in the cause,’ said a third. 

‘ Surrender !’ ‘ Strike the flag !’ ‘ Down with the colours !’ 

roared several voices together. 

By tin? time the Frenchman was close up, and ranging his 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


213 


long gun to sweep our decks: his crew were quite percepti- 
ble, about twenty bronzed stout-looking fellows, stripped to 
the waist, and carrying pistols in broad flat belts slung over the 
shoulder. 

“ ‘ Come, my lads,’ said I, raising my voice, as I drew a pistol 
from my side and cocked it, ‘ our time is short now ; I may as well 
tell you that the first shot that strikes us amid-ship blows up the 
whole craft and every man on board. We are nothing less than 
a fire-ship, destined for Brest harbour to blow up the French 
fleet. If you are willing to make an eflbrt for your lives, follow 
me.’ 

The men looked aghast. Whatever recklessness, crime, and 
drunkenness had given them, the awful feeling of inevitable death 
at once repelled. Short aS was the time for reflection, they felt 
that there were many circumstances to encourage the assertion : 
the nature of the vessel, her riotous, disorderly crew, the secret 
nature of the service, all confirmed it, and they answered with a 
shout of despairing vengeance, ^ We’ll board her, lead us on.’ 
As the cry rose up, the long swivel from the chase rung sharply in 
our ears, and a tremendous discharge of grape flew through our 
rigging ; none of our men, however, fell ; and, animated now 
with the desire for battle, they sprang to the binacle and seized 
their arms. 

“ In an instant the whole deck became a scene of excited bustle ; 
and scarcely was the ammunition dealt out and the boarding party 
drawn up, when the Frenchman broached to and lashed his bow- 
sprit to our own. 

‘‘ One terrific yell rose from our fellows, as they sprung from 
the rigging and the poop upon the astonished Frenchmen, who 
thought that the victory was already their own ; with death and 
ruin behind, their only hope before, they dashed forward like 
madmen to the fray. 

‘‘ The conflict was bloody and terrific, though not a long one ; 
nearly equal in number, but far superior in personal strength, and 
stimulated by their sense of danger, our fellows rushed onward 
carrying all before them to the quarter-deck. Here the French- 
men rallied, and, for some minutes, had rather the advantage, until 
the mate, turning one of their guns against them, prepared to 
sweep them down in a mass. Then it was that they ceased their 
fire, and cried out for quarter. All, save their captain, a short 
thickset fellow, with a grisly beard and moustache, who, seeing 
his men fall back, turned on them one glance of scowling indigna- 
tion, and rushing forward, clove our boatswain to the deck with 
one blow. Before the example could have been followed, he lay 
a bloody corpse upon the deck, while our people roused to madness 
by the .loss of a favourite among the men, dashed impetuously 
forward, and, dealing death on every side, left not one man living 
among their unresisting enemies. My story is soon told now. 


214 


CHARLES O'MALLEY, 


We brought our prize safe into Malta, which we reached in five 
days. In less than a week our men were drafted into different 
men-of-war on the station. I was appointed a warrant officer in 
the Sheerwater, forty-four guns; and, as the Admiral opened 
the despatch, the only words he spoke puzzled me for many a day. 
after. 

“‘You have accomplished your orders too well,' said he; 
‘that privateer is but a poor compensation for the whole French 
navy.' " 

“ Well," inquired Power, “and did you never hear the meaning 
of the words ?" 

“Yes," said he, “many years after I found out that our 
despatches were false ones, intended to have falleU into the hands 
of the French and mislead them as to Lord Nelson's fleet, which 
at that time was cruising to the southward to catch them. This, 
of course, explained what fate was destined for us ; a French 
prison, if not death ; and, after all, either was fully good enough 
for the crew that sailed in the old Brian." 


/ 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


215 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE LAND. 

It was late when we separated for the night, and the morning 
was already far advanced ere I awoke ; the monotonous tramp 
over-head showed me that the others were stirring, and I gently 
moved the shutter of the narrow window beside me to look out. 

The sea, slightly rippled upon its surface, shone like a plate of 
fretted gold ; not a wave, not a breaker appeared ; but the rushing 
sound close by showed that we were moving fast through the water. 

Always calm, hereabouts,” said a gruff voice on deck, which 
I soon/ recognised as the Skipper’s : “ no sea whatever.” 

I can make nothing of it,” cried out Power, from the forepart 
of the vessel ; “ it appears to me all cloud.” 

‘‘ No, no, sir, believe me, it’s no fog-bank ; that large dark mass 
to leeward there ; that’s Cintra.” 

Land !” cried I, springing up and rushing upon deck ; where. 
Skipper ; where is the land ?” 

I say, Charley,” said Power, I hope you mean to adopt a 
little more clothing, on reaching Lisbon ; for, though the climate 
is a warm one ” 

Never mind, O’Malley,” said the Major, the Portuguese will 
only be flattered by the attention, if you land as you are.” 

« Why, how so ?” 

Surely, you remember what the niggers said when they saw 
the 79th Highlanders landing at St. Lucie. They had never seen 
a Scotch regiment before, and were consequently somewhat puz- 
zled at the costume, till, at last, one more cunning than the rest 
explained it, by saying, ^ they are in such a hurry to kill the poor 
black men, they came away without their breeches.’ ” 

‘‘Now, what say you ?” cried the Skipper as he pointed with 
his telescope to a dark blue mass in the distance ; “see there !” 

“Ay, true enough, that’s Cintra !” 

“Then,' we shall probably be in the Tagus before morning ?” 

“ Before midnight, if the wind holds,” said the Skipper. 

We breakfasted on deck, beneath an awning ; the vessel scarcely 
seemed to move, as she cut her way through the calm water. 

The misty outline of the coast grew gradually more defined, and 
at length the blue mountains could be seen, at first but dimly ; but, 
as the day wore on, their many-coloured hues shone forth, and 
patches of green verdure dotted with sheep, or sheltered by dark 
foliage, met the eye. The bulwarks were crowded with anxious 
faces ; each looked pointedly towards the shore, and many a stout 


216 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


heart beat high as the land drew near, fated to cover with its earth 
more than one amongst us. 

And that’s Portingale, Mister Charles,” said a voice behind 
me. I turned, and saw my man Mike as, with anxious joy, he 
fixed his eyes upon the shore. 

They tell me it’s a beautiful place, with wine for nothing and 
spirits for less. Isn’t it a pity they wont be raisonable and make 
peace with us?” 

Why, my good fellow, we are excellent friends ; it’s the French 
who want to beat us all.” 

Upon my conscience, that’s not right. There’s an ould say- 
ing in Connaught, — it’s not fair for one to fall upon twenty. 
Sergeant Haggarty says that I’ll see none of the divarsion at all.” 

I don’t well understand ” 

He does be telling me that, as I’m only your foot-boy, he’ll 
send me away to the rear, where there’s nothing but wounded, 
and wagons, and women.” 

“ I believe the sergeant is right there ; but, after all, Mike, it’s 
a safe place.” 

“ Ah ! then, musha, for the safety ; I don’t think much of it : 
sure, they might circumvint us. And, av it wasn’t displazing to 
you, I’d rather list.” 

Well, I’ve no objection, Mickey : would you like to join my 
regiment?” 

By coorse, your honour. I’d like to be near yourself ; bekase, 
too, if any thing happens to you — the Lord be betune us and 
htU'm,” here he crossed himself piously, — “ sure I’d like to be able 
to tell the master how you died ; and, sure, there’s Mister Considine 
— God pardon him — he’ll be beating my brains out av I couldn’t 
explain it all.” 

“ Well, Mike, I’ll speak to some of my friends here about you, 
and we’ll settle it all properly : here’s the Doctor.” 

“ Arrah, Mister Charles, don’t mind him ; he’s a poor crayture 
entirely ; devil a thing he knows.” 

“ Why, what do you mean, man ? he’s physician to the forces.” 

“ Oh, by gorra, and so he may be,” said Mike, with a toss of 
his head ; those army docthers isn’t worth their salt. It’s thruth 
I’m telling you : sure, didn’t he come see me when I was sick 
below in the hould ? 

“ ^ How do you feel ?’ says he. 

Terrible dhry in the mouth,’ says L 

“ ‘ But your bones,’ says he, ‘ how’s them.’ 

“ ‘ As if cripples was kicking me,’ says I. 

‘ Well, with that he went away, and brought back two pow- 
ders. 

“ ^ Take them,’ says he, ^and ye’ll be cured in no time.’ 

“ ^ What’s them ?’ says I. 

“ ‘ They’re ematics,’ says he. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


217 


“ ‘ Blood and ages,’ says I, ‘are they V 

“ ‘ Devil a lie,’ says he ; ‘take them immediately.’ 

“ And I tuk them — and, would you believe me. Mister Charles ? 
— it’s thruth I’m telling you — devil a one o’ them would stay on 
my stomach. So you see what a docther he is !” 

I could not help smiling at Mike’s ideas of a medicine, as I 
turned away to talk to the Major, who was busily engaged beside 
me. His occupation consisted in furbishing up a very tarnished 
and faded uniform, whose white seams and threadbare lace beto- 
kened many years of service. 

“ Getting up our traps, you see, O’Malley,” said he, as he looked 
with no small pride at the faded glories of his old vestment; 
“ astonish them at Lisbon, we flatter ourselves. I say. Power, 
what a bad style of dress they’ve got into latterly, with their tight 
waists and strapped trousers — nothing free, nothing easy, nothing 
degage about it. When in a campaign, a man ought to be able 
to stow prog for twenty-four hours about his person, and no one 
the wiser. A very good rule, I assure you ; though sometimes 
leads to awkward results. At Vimeira, I got into a sad scrape 
that way. Old Sir Harry, that commanded there, sent for the sick 
return. I was at dinner when the orderly came ; so I packed up 
the eatables about me, and rode off. Just, however, as I came 
up to the quarters, my horse stumbled and threw me slap on my 
head. 

“ ‘ Is he killed,’ said Sir Harry. 

‘“Only stunned, your Excellency,’ said some one. 

“‘Then, he’ll come to, I suppose. Look for the papers in liL 
pocket.’ 

“ So they turned me on my back, and plunged a hand into my 
side pocket, but, the devil take it, they pulled out a roast hen. 
Well, the laugh was scarcely over at this, when another fellow 
dived into my coat behind, and lugged out three sausages ; and so 
they went on, till the ground was covered with ham, pigeon-pie, 
veal kidney, and potatoes, and the only thing like a paper was a 
mess roll of the 4th, with a droll song about Sir Harry, written 
in pencil on the back of it. Devil of a bad affair for me ; I was 
nearly broke for it ; but they only reprimanded me a little ; and I 
was afterwards attached to the victualling department.” 

What an anxious thing is the last day of a voyage ! how slowly 
creep the hours, teeming with memories of the past and expecta- 
tions of the future. 

Every plan, every well-devised expedient to cheat the long and 
weary days, is at once abandoned ; the chess-board and the new 
novel are alike forgotten ; and the very quarter-deck walk, with 
its merry gossip and careless chit-chat, becomes distasteful. One 
blue and misty mountain, one faint outline of the far off shore, 
has dispelled all thought of these, and, with straining eye and 
anxious heart, we watch for land. 

28 T 


218 


CHARLES o’mALLET, 


As the day wears on apace, the excitement increases : the faint 
and shadowy forms of distant objects grow gradually clearer. 
Where before some tall and misty mountain peak was seen, we 
now descry patches of deepest blue and sombre olive ; the mellow 
corn and the Avaving woods, the village spire and the lowly cot, 
come out of the landscape ; and, like some well-remembered voice, 
they speak of home. The objects we have seen, the sounds we 
have heard a hundred times before Avithout interest, become to us 
now things that stir the heart. 

For a time, the bright glare of the noonday sun dazzles the 
vieAv, and renders indistinct the prospect ; but, as evening falls, 
once more is all fair, and bright, and rich before us. Rocked by 
the long and rolling SAvell, I lay beside the bowsprit, Avatching 
the shore birds that came to rest upon the rigging, or folio Aving 
some long and tangled sea-Aveed as it floated by, my thoughts noAV 
wandering back to the broAvn hills and the broad river of my early 
home — noAV straying off in dreary fancies of the future. 

Hoav flat and unprofitable does all ambition seem at such 
moments as these ; hoAV valueless, hoAV poor, in our estimation, 
those Avorldly distinctions we have so often longed and thirsted 
for, as with loAvly heart and simple spirit Ave watch each humble 
cottage, Aveaving to ourselves some story of its inmates, as we 
pass. 

The night at length closed in, but it Avas a bright and starry one, 
— lending to the landscape a hue of sombre shade av, while the 
outline of the objects Avere still sharp and distinct as before. 
One solitary star tAvinkled near the horizon. I Avatched it as, at 
intervals disappearing, it Avould again shine out, marking the calm 
sea with a tall pillar of light. 

“ Come doAvn, Mr. O’Malley,’’ cried the Skipper’s Avell-knoAvn 
voice ; come doAvn beloAV, and join us in a parting-glass — that’s 
the Lisbon light to leeward, and before two hours we drop our 
anchor in the Tagus.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


219 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

MAJOR MONSOON. 

Op my travelling companions, I have already told my readers 
something. Power is now an old acquaintance ; to Sparks I have 
already presented them; of the Adjutant they are not entirely 
ignorant ; and it therefore only remains for me to introduce to 
their notice Major Monsoon, i should have some scruple for the 
digression which this occasions in my narrative, were it not that 
with the worthy Major I was destined to meet subsequently, and 
indeed served under his orders for some months in the Peninsula. 
When Major Monsoon had entered the army, or in what precise 
capacity, I never yet met the man who could tell. There were 
traditionary accounts of his having served in the East Indies and 
in Canada, in times long past. His own peculiar reminiscences 
extended to nearly every regiment in the service, “ horse, foot, 
and dragoons.” There was not a clime he had not basked in; 
not an engagement he had not witnessed. His memory, or, if 
you will, his invention, was never at fault ; and from the siege of 
Seringapatam to the battle of Corunna he was perfect : besides 
this, he possessed a mind retentive of even the most trifling details 
of his profession ; from the formation of a regiment to the intro- 
duction of a new button, from the laying down of a parallel to 
the price of a camp-kettle, he knew it all. To be sure he had 
served in the commissary-gen eraPs department for a number of 
years, and nothing instils such habits as this. 

The commissaries are to the army what the special pleaders 
are to the bar,” observed my friend Power, — “dry dogs; not over 
creditable on the whole, but devilish useful.” 

The Major had begun life a two-bottle man, but, by a studious 
cultivation of his natural gifts, and a steady determination to 
succeed, he had, at the time I knew him, attained to his fifth. It 
need not be wondered at, then, that his countenance bore some 
traces of his habits. It was of a deep, sun-set purple, which, 
becoming tropical, at the tip of the nose, verged almost upon a 
plum colour; his mouth was large, thick-lipped, and good-hu- 
moured ; his voice rich, mellow, and racy, and contributed, with 
the aid of a certain dry, chuckling laugh, greatly to increase the 
effect of the stories which he was ever ready to recount ; and, as 
they most frequently bore in some degree against some of what 
he called his little failings, they were ever well received, no man 
being so popular with the world as he who flatters its vanity 


220 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


at his own expense. To do this, the Major was ever ready, hut 
at no time more so than when the evening wore late, and the last 
bottle of his series seemed to imply that any caution regarding 
the nature of his communication was perfectly unnecessary. In- 
deed, from the commencement of his evening to the close he 
seemed to pass through a number of mental changes, all in a 
manner preparing him for this final consummation, when he con- 
fessed any thing, and every thing, and so well-regulated had these 
stages become, that a friend dropping in upon him suddenly 
could at once pronounce from the tone of his conversation on 
what precise bottle the Major was then engaged. 

Thus, in the outset he was gastronomic ; discussed the dinner 
from the soup to the stilton; criticised the cutlets; pronounced 
upon the merits of the mutton ; and threw out certain vague hints 
that he would one day astonish the world by a little volume upon 
cookery. 

With bottle No. 2 he took leave of the cuisine, and opened his 
battery upon the wine. Bordeaux, burgundy, hock, and hermit- 
age, all passed in review before him; their flavour discussed, 
their treatm/3nt descanted upon, their virtues extolled ; from hum- 
ble port to imperial tokay, he was thoroughly conversant with all ; 
and not a vintage escaped as to when the sun had suffered eclipse 
or when, a comet had wagged his tail over it. 

With No. 3 he became pipe-clay ; talked army list and eighteen 
manoeuvres ; lamented the various changes in equipments which 
modern innovation had introduced ; and feared the loss of pigtails 
might sap the military spirit of the nation. 

With No. 4 his anecdotic powers came into play ; he recounted 
various incidents of the war, with his own individual adventures 
and experience, told with an honest naivete that proved personal 
vanity ; indeed, self-respect never marred the interest of the nar- 
rative ; besides as he had ever regarded a campaign something in 
the light of a foray, and esteemed war as little else than a pillage 
excursion, his sentiments were singularly amusing. 

With his last bottle those feelings that seemed inevitably con- 
nected with whatever is last, appeared to steal over him: a tinge 
of sadness, for pleasures fast passing and nearly passed, a kind of 
retrospective glance at the fallacy of all our earthly enjoyments, 
insensibly suggesting moral and edifying reflections, led him by 
degrees to confess that he was not quite satisfied with himself, 
though ^‘not very bad for a commissary;’^ and, finally, as the 
decanter waxed low, he would interlard his meditations by pas- 
sages of Scripture, singularly perverted, by his misconception, 
from their true meaning, and alternately throwing out prospect of 
censure or approval. Such was Major Monsoon : and, to conclude 
in his own words this brief sketch, he “ would have been an ex- 
cellent ofiicer if Providence had not made him such a confounded 
drunken old scoundrel.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


221 


‘‘ Now, then, for the King of Spain’s story. Out with it, old 
boy ; we are all good men and true here,” cried Power, as we 
slowly <;ame along upon the tide up the Tagus, so you’ve no- 
thing to fear.” 

“ Upon my life,” replied the Major, I don’t half like the tone 
of our conversation. There is a certain freedom young men affect 
now-a-days regarding morals that is not at all to my taste. When 
I was five or six and twenty — ” 

“ You were the greatest scamp in the service,” cried Power. 

‘‘ Fie, fie, Fred. If I was a little wild or so,” — here the Ma- 
jor’s eyes twinkled maliciously, — it was the ladies that spoiled 
me ; I was always rather something of a favourite, just like our 
friend Sparks there. Not that we fared very much alike in our 
little adventures ; for, somehow I believe I was generally in fault 
in most of mine, as many a good man and many an excellent man 
has been before.” Here his voice dropped into a moralizing key, 
as he added, David, you know, didn’t behave well to old Uriah. 
Upon my life, he did not, and he was a very respectable man.” 

The king of Spain’s sherry, the sherry,” cried I, fearing that 
the Major’s digression might lose us a good story. 

You shall not have a drop of it,” replied the Major. 

“ But the story. Major, the story.” 

Nor the story either.” 

What,” said Power, will you break faith with us ?” 

There’s none to be kept with reprobates like you. Fill my 
glass.” 

Hold there ! stop !” cried Power. “ Not a spoonful till he re- 
deem his pledge.” 

Well, then, if you must have a story — for most assuredly I 
must drink — I have no objection to give you a leaf from my early 
reminiscences, and, in compliment to Sparks there, my tale shall be 
of love.” / 

I dinna like to lose the king’s story. I hae my thoughts it was 
na a bad ane.” 

Nor I neither, doctor, but — ” 

Come, come, you shall have that too, the first night we meet in 
a bivouac ; and as I fear the time may not be very far distant, 
don’t be impatient ; besides, a love story^ — ” 

Quite true,” said Power ; ‘‘ a love story claims precedence : 
place aux dames. There’s a bumper for you, old Wickedness ; so 
go along.” 

The Major cleared off his glass, refilled it, sipped twice, and ogled 
it as though he would have no peculiar objection to sip once more, 
took a long pinch of snuff from a box nearly as long as, and some- 
thing of the shape of, a child’s coffin ; looked around to see that 
we were all attention, and thus began : — 

When I have been in a moralizing mood, as I very frequently 
am about this hour in the morning, I have often felt surprised by 

T 2 


222 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


what little, trivial, and insignificant circumstances our lot in life 
seems to be cast : I mean, especially, as regards the fair sex. You 
are prospering as it were, to-day ; to-morrow a new cut of your 
whiskers — a novel tie of your cravat, mars your destiny, and spoils 
your future varium et mutabile, as Horace has it. On the other 
hand, some equally slight circumstances will do what all your in- 
genuity may have failed to effect. I knew a fellow who married 
the greatest fortune in Bath, from the mere habit he had of squeez- 
ing one’s hand. The lady in question thought it particular, looked 
conscious, and all that ; he followed up the blow ; and, in a word, 
they were married in a week. So a friend of mine, who could not 
help winking his left eye, once opened a flirtation with a lively 
widow, which cost him a special licence and a settlement. In fact, 
you are never safe. They are like the guerrillas, and they pick 
you off when you least expect it, and when you think there is 
nothing to fear. Therefore, as young fellows beginning life, I 
would caution you. On this head you can never be too circum- 
spect. Do you know, I was once nearly caught by so slight a 
habit as sitting thus, with my legs across ?” 

Here the Major rested his right foot on his left knee, in illustra- 
tion, and continued : — 

We were quartered in Jamaica. I had not long joined, and 
was about as raw a young gentleman as you could see ; the only- 
very clear ideas in my head being, that we were monstrous fine 
fellows in the 50th, and that the planters’ daughters were deplora- 
bly in love with us. Not that I was much wrong on either side. 
For brandy and water, sangaree, Manilla cigars, and the ladies of 
colour, I’d have backed the corps against the service. Proof was, 
of eighteen, only two ever left the island ; for what with the seduc- 
tions of the coffee plantations, the sugar canes, the new rum, the 
brown skins, the rainy season, and the yellow fever, most of us 
settled there.” 

“ It’s very hard to leave the West Indies if once you have been 
quartered there.” 

So I have heard,” said Power. 

In fine, if you don’t knock under to the climate, you become 
soon totally unfit for living anywhere else. Preserved ginger, 
yams, flannel jackets, and grog won’t bear exportation ; and the 
free and easy chuck under the chin, cherishing, waist-pressing kind 
of a way we get with the ladies, would be quite misunderstood in 
less favoured regions, and lead to very unpleasant consequences. 

It is a curious fact how much climate has to do with love- 
making. In our cold country the progress is lamentably slow ; 
fogs, east winds, sleet storms, and cutting March weather, nip 
many a budding flirtation ; whereas, warm, sunny days and bright 
moonlight nights, with genial air and balmy zephyrs, open the 
heart, like the cup of a camelia, and let us drink in the soft dew 
of ” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


223 


“ Devilish poetical that,” said Power, evolving a, long blue line 
of smoke from the corner of his mouth. 

Isn’t it though,” said the Major, smiling graciously. “ ’Pon 
my life, I thought so myself. Where was I ?” 

Out of my latitude altogether,” said the poor Skipper, who 
often found it hard to follow the thread of a slory. 

“ Yes, I remember. I was remarking that sangaree, and calipash 
mangoes, and Guava jelly, dispose the heart to love, and so they 
do. I was not more than six weeks in Jamaica when I felt it my- 
self. Now, it was a very dangerous symptom, if you had it strong 
in you, for this reason. Our Colonel, the most cross-grained old 
crabstick that ever breathed, happened himself to be taken in when 
young, and resolving, like the fox who lost his tail, and said it was 
not the fashion to wear one, to pretend he did the thing for fun, 
resolved to make every fellow marry upon the slightest provoca- 
tion. Begad, you might as well enter a powder magazine with a 
branch of candles in your hand, as go into society in the island with 
a leaning towards the fair sex. Very hard this was for me par- 
ticularly; for, like poor Sparks there, my weakness was ever for 
the petticoats. I had, besides, no petty, contemptible prejudices as 
to nation, habits, language, colour, or complexion ; black, brown, 
or fair, from the Muscovite to the Malabar, from the voluptuous 
embonpoint of the Adjutant’s widow — don’t be angry, old boy — 
to the fairy form of Isabella herself, I loved them all round. But, 
were I to give a preference anywhere, I should certainly do so to 
the West Indies, if it were only for the sake of the planters’ daugh- 
ters. I say it fearlessly, these colonies are the brightest jewels in 
the crown. Let’s drink their health, for I’m as husky as a lime- 
kiln.” 

This ceremony being performed with suitable enthusiasm, the 
Major cried out, Another cheer for Polly Hackett, the sweetest 
girl in Jamaica. By Jove, Power, if you only saw her, as I did, 
five-and-forty years ago, with eyes black as jet, twinkling, ogling, 
leering, teasing, and imploring, all at once, do you mind, and a 
mouthful of downright pearls pouting and smiling at you, why, 
man, you’d have proposed for her in the first half hour, and shot 
yourself the next, when she refused you. She was, indeed, a per- 
fect little beauty; ray t her dark, to be sure ; a little upon the rose- 
wood tinge, but beautifully polished, and a very nice piece of fur- 
niture for a cottage orn^, as the French call it. Alas, alas ! how 
these vanities do catch hold of us. My recollections have made 
me quite feverish and thirsty: is there any cold punch in the bowl? 
Thank you, O’Malley, that will do — merely to touch my lips. 
Well, well, it’s all passed and gone now. But I was very fond of 
Polly Hackett, and she was of me. We used to take our little 
evening walks together through the coffee plantation; very roman- 
tic little strolls they were : she in white muslin, with a blue sash 
and blue shoes ; I in a flannel jacket and trowsers, straw hat and 


224 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


cravat ; a Virginia cigar as long as a walking-stick in my mouth, 
puffing and courting between times : then we’d take a turn to the 
refining house, look in at the big boilers, quiz the niggers, and come 
back to Twangberry Moss to supper, where old Hackett, the father, 
sported a glorious table at eleven o’clock. Great feeding it was. 
You were always sure of a preserved monkey, a baked land-crab, 
or some such delicacy. And such madeira ! it makes me dry to 
think of it ! 

Talk of West India slavery indeed ! It’s the only land of 
liberty. There is nothing to compare with the perfect free-and- 
easy, devil-may-care-kind-of-a-take-yourself way that every one 
has there. If it would be any peculiar comfort for you to sit in 
the saddle of mutton, and put your legs in a soup tureen at dinner, 
there would be found very few to object to it. There is no non- 
sense of any kind about etiquette. You eat, drink, and are merry, 
or, if you prefer, are sad; just as you please. You may wear 
uniform, or you may not ; it’s your own affair; and, consequently, 
it may be imagined how insensibly such privileges gain upon one, 
and how very reluctant we become ever to resign or abandon 
them. 

“ I was the man to appreciate it all. The whole course of pro- 
ceeding seemed to have been invented for my peculiar convenience, 
and not a man in the island enjoyed a more luxurious existence 
than myself, not knowing all the while how dearly I was destined 
to pay for my little comforts. Among my plenary after-dinner 
indulgences I had contracted an inveterate habit of sitting cross- 
legged, as I showed you. Now, this was become a perfect neces- 
sity of existence to me. I could have dispensed with cheese, with 
my glass of port, my pickled mango, my olive, my anchovy toast, 
my nutshell of curagoa, but not my favourite lounge. You may 
smile ; but I’ve read of a man who could never dance except in 
the room with an old hair-brush. Now I’m certain my stomach 
would not digest if my legs were perpendicular. I don’t mean to 
defend the thing. The attitude was not graceful ; it was not im- 
posing ; but it suited me somehow, and I liked it. 

From what I have already mentioned, you may suppose that 
West India habits exercised but little control over my favourite 
practice, which I indulged in every evening of my life. Well, one 
day. Old Hackett gave us a great blow-out — a dinner of two-and- 
twenty souls ; six days’ notice ; turtle from St. Lucie, guinea fowl, 
claret of the year forty, Madeira ^ discretion, and all that. Very 
well done the whole thing : nothing wrong, nothing wanting. As 
for me, I was in great feather. I took Polly in to dinner, greatly 
to the discomfiture of old Belson, our Major, who was making up 
in that quarter ; for, you must know, she was an only daughter, 
and had a very nice thing of it in molasses and niggers. The papa 
preferred the Major, but Polly looked sweetly upon me. Well, 
down we went, and really a most excellent feed we had. Now, 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


225 


I must mention here that Polly had a favourite Blenheim spaniel 
the old fellow detested : it was always tripping him up and snarl- 
ing at him ; for it was, except to herself, a beast of rather vicious 
inclinations. With a true Jamaica taste, it was her pleasure to 
bring the animal always into the dinner-room, where, if papa dis- 
covered him, there was sure to be a row. Servants sent in one 
direction to hunt him out ; others endeavouring to hide him, and 
so on: in fact a tremendous hubbub always followed his introduc- 
tion and accompanied his exit ; upon which occasions I invariably 
exercised my gallantry by protecting the beast, although I hated 
him like the devil all the time. 

“To return to our dinner. After two mortal hours of hard eat- 
ing, the pace began to slacken ; and, as evening closed in, a sense 
of peaceful repose seemed to descend upon our labours. Pastilles 
shed an aromatic vapour through the room. The well-iced decanters 
went with measured pace along ; conversation, subdued to the me- 
ridian of after-dinner comfort, just murmured ; the open jalousies 
displayed upon the broad verandah the orange-tree, in full blossom, 
slightly stirring with the cool sea-breeze.” 

“ And the piece of white muslin beside you, what of her ?” 

“Looked twenty times more bewitching than ever. Well, it 
was just the hour when, opening the last two buttons of your white 
waistcoat, (remember we were in Jamaica,) you stretch your legs 
to the full extent, throw your arms carelessly over the back of your 
chair, look contemplatively towards the ceiling, and wonder, within 
yourself, why it is not all after dinner in this same world of ours. 
Such, at least, were my reflections as I assumed my attitude of 
supreme comfort, and inwardly ejaculated a health to Sneyd and 
Barton. Just at this moment I heard Polly’s voice gently whisper, 
‘ Isn’t he a love ? isn’t he a darling ?’ ‘ Zounds,’ thought I, as a 

pang of jealousy shot through my heart, ‘is it the Major she 
means ?’ for old Belson, with his bag wig and rouged cheeks, was 
seated on the other side of her. 

“ ‘ What a dear old thing it is,’ said Polly. 

“ ‘ Worse and worse,’ said I ; ‘ it must be him.’ 

“ ‘ I do so love his muzzy face.’ 

“ ‘ It is him,’ said I, throwing off a bumper, and almost boiling 
over with passion at the moment. 

“ ‘ I wish I could take one look at him,’ said she, laying down 
her head as she spoke. 

“ The Major whispered something in her ear, to which she re- 
plied — 

“ ‘ Oh ! I dare not ; papa will see me at once.’ 

“ ‘ Don’t be afraid, madam,’ said I, fiercely ; ‘ your father per- 
fectly approves of your taste.’ 

“ ‘ Are you sure of it,’ said she, giving me such a look. 

“ ‘ I know it,’ said I, struggling violently with my agitation. 

“ The Major leaned over, as if to touch her hand beneath the 
29 


226 CHARLES o’mALLEY, 

cloth. I almost sprung from my chair, when Polly, in her sweetest 
accents, said ; — 

You must be patient, dear thing, or you may be found out, 
and then there will be such a piece of work. Though Pm sure. 
Major, you would not betray me.’ The Major smiled till he 
cracked the paint upon his cheeks. ‘And Pm sure that Mr. 
Monsoon ’ 

“ ‘ You may rely upon me,’ said I, half sneeringly. 

“ The Major and I exchanged glances of defiance, while Polly 
continued — 

“ ‘ Now, come don’t be restless. You are very comfortable 
there. Isn’t he. Major .?’ The Major smiled again more graciously 
than before, as he added — 

“ ‘ May I take a look ?” 

“ ‘ Just one peep, then, no more !’ said she, coquettishly ; poor 
dear Wowski is so timid.’ 

“ Scarcely had these words borne halm and comfort to my heart 
—for I now knew that to the dog, and not to my rival, were all 
the flattering expressions applied — when a slight scream from Polly, 
and a tremendous oath from the Major raised me from my dream 
of happiness. 

“ ‘ Take your foot down, sir. Mr. Monsoon, how could you do 
so ?’ cried Polly. 

“ ‘ What the devil, sir, do you mean ?” shouted the Major. 

“ ‘ Oh ! I shall die of shame,’ sobbed she. 

“ ‘ I’ll shoot him like a riddle,’ muttered old Belson. 

“ By this time the whole table had got at the story, and such 
peals of laughter, mingled with suggestions for my personal mal- 
treatment, I never heard. All my attempts at explanation were in 
vain. I was not listened to, much less believed, and the old colonel 
finished the scene by ordering me to my quarters in a voice I shall 
never forget. The whole room being, at the time I made my exit, 
one scene of tumultuous laughter from one end to the other. Ja- 
maica after this became too hot for me. The story was repeated 
on every side ; for, it seems, I had been sitting with my foot on 
Polly’s lap ; but, so occupied was I with my jealous vigilance of 
the Major, I was not aware of the fact until she herself discovered 
it. 

“ I need not say how the following morning brought with it 
every possible offer of amende upon my part ; any thing, from a 
written apology to a proposition to marry the lady, 1 was ready 
for ; and how the matter might have ended I know not ; for, in 
the middle of the negotiations, we were ordered off to Halifax, 
where, be assured, I abandoned my attitude H la turque foi^ many 
a long day after.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


221 


CHAPTER XXXVL 

THE LANDING. 

What a contrast to the dull monotony of our life at sea did the 
scene present which awaited us on landing in Lisbon. The whole 
quay was crowded with hundreds of people eagerly watching the 
vessel which bore from her mast the broad ensign of Britain. 
Dark featured, swarthy, moustached faces, with red caps rakishly 
set on one side, mingled with the Saxon faces and fair-haired 
natives of our own country. Men-of-war boats plied unceasingly 
to and fro across the tranquil river, some slender reefer in the 
stern sheets ; while behind him trailed the red pennon of some 
‘Uall amiral.” 

The din and clamour of a mighty city mingled with the far-off 
sounds of military music ; and, in the vistas of the opening street, 
masses of troops might be seen, in marching order ; and all beto- 
kened the near approach of war. 

Our anchor had scarcely been dropped, when an eight-oar gig, 
with a midshipman steering, came along side. 

Ship ahoy, there ! You’ve troops on board ?” 

Ay, ay, sir.” 

Before the answer could be spoken, he was on the deck. 

‘‘ May I ask,” said he, touching his cap slightly, “ who is the 
officer in command of the detachment?” 

Captain Power ; very much at your service,” said Fred, re- 
turning the salute. 

“ Rear-Admiral Sir Edward Douglas requests that you will do 
him the favour to come on board immediately ; and bring your 
despatches with you.” 

Pm quite ready,” said Power, as he placed his papers in his 
sabretasch ; but first tell us what’s doing here ? Any thing new 
lately ?” 

I have heard nothing, except of some affair with the Portu- 
guese : they’ve been drubbed again; but our people have not 
been engaged. I say, we had better get under way ; there’s our 
first lieutenant, with his telescope up ; he’s looking straight at us. 
So, come along. Good evening, gentlemen;” and in another 
moment the sharp craft was cutting the clear water, while Power 
gaily waved us a good-bye. 

‘‘ Who’s for shore ?” said the Skipper, as half a dozen boats 
swarmed around the side or held on by their boat-hooks to the 
rigging. 


228 


CHARLES o’MALLEr, 


Who is not ?’’ said Monsoon ; who now appeared in his old 
blue frock covered with tarnished braiding, and a cocked hat that 
might have roofed a pagoda. Who is not, my old boy ? Is not 
every man amongst us delighted with the prospect of fresh prog, 
cool wine, and a bed somewhat longer than four feet six ? I say, 
O’Malley ! Sparks ! Where’s the Adjutant ? Ah, there he is ! 
We’ll not mind the Doctor ; he’s a very jovial little fellow, but 
a damned bore, enfre nous ; and we’ll have a cosy little supper at 
the Rua di Toledo. I know the place well. Whew, now ! Get 
away, boy. Sit steady. Sparks ; she’s only a cockle-shell. There 
— that’s the Plaza de la Regna ; there to the left. There’s the 
great cathedral — you can’t see it now. Another seventy-four ! 
why, there’s the’ whole fleet here ! I wish Power joy of his after- 
noon with old Douglas.” 

Do you know him, then. Major ? ” 

Do I ! — I should rather think I do. He was going to put me 
in irons here in this river once. A great shame it was ; but I’ll 
tell you the story another time. There — gently now ; that’s it. 
Thank God ! once more upon land. How I do hate a ship : upon 
my life, a sauce-boat is the only boat endurable in this world.” 

We edged our way with difficulty through the dense crowd, 
and at last reached the Plaza. Here the numbers were still 
greater, but of a different class : several pretty and well-dressed 
women, with their dark eyes twinkling above their black mantillas, 
as they held them across their faces, watched with an intense 
curiosity one of the streets that opened upon the square. 

In a few moments the band of a regiment was heard, and veiy 
shortly after the regular tramp of troops followed, as the eighty- 
seventh marched into the Plaza, and formed a line. 

The music ceased ; the drums rolled along the line ; and the 
next moment all was still. It was really an inspiriting sight to 
one whose heart was interested in the career, to see those gallant 
fellows, as, with their bronzed faces and stalwart frames, they 
stood motionless as a rock. As I continued to look, the band 
marched into the middle of the square, and struck up “ Garryowen.” 
Scarcely was the first part played, when a tremendous cheer burst 
from the troop-ship in the river. The welcome notes had reached 
the poor fellows there ; the well-known sounds, that told of home 
and country, met their ears ; and the loud cry of recognition be- 
spoke their heart’s fulness. 

There they go. Your wild countrymen have heard their Banz 
des vaches, it seems. Lord ! how they frightened the poor Portu- 
guese ! look, how they’re running !” 

Such was actually the case. The loud cheer uttered from the 
river was taken up by otliers straggling on shore, and one univer- 
sal shout betokened that fully one-third of the red-coats around 
came from the dear island, and, in their enthusiasm, had terrified 
the natives to no small extent. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


229 


not that Feiguson there cried the Major, as an officer 
passed us with his arm in a sling. “ I say Joe — Ferguson : oh ! 
knew it was.’’ 

Monsoon, my hearty, how goes it ? — only just arrived I see — 
delighted to meet you out here once more. Why, we’ve been 
dull as a* veteran battalion without you. These your friends ? 
pray present me.” The ceremony of introduction over, the Major 
invited Ferguson to join our party at supper. ^^No, not to-night. 
Major,” said he, ^‘you must be my guests this evening. My 
quarters are not five minutes’ walk from this — I shall not promise 
you very luxurious fare. 

‘‘A carbonade with olives, a roast duck, a bowl of bishop, 
and, if you will, a few bottles of burgundy,” said the Major : 
“ don’t put yourself out for us — soldier’s fare, eh ?” 

I could not help smiling at the naive notion of simplicity so cun- 
ningly suggested by old Monsoon. As I followed the party 
through the streets, my step was light, my heart not less so ; for 
what sensations are more delightful than those of landing after a 
voyage ; the escape from the durance vile of shipboard, with its mo- 
notonous days and dreary nights ; its ill-regulated appointments ; 
its cramped accommodation ; its uncertain duration ; its eternal 
round of unchanging amusements ; for the freedom of the shore, 
with a land breeze, and a firm footing to tread upon ; and, certainly 
not least of all, the sight of that brightest part of creation, whose 
soft eyes and tight ankles are, perhaps, the greatest of all imagin- 
able pleasures to him who has been the dweller on blue water for 
several weeks long. 

Here we are,” cried out Ferguson, as we stopped at the door 
of a large and handsome house. We followed up a spacious stair 
into an ample room, sparingly, but not uncomfortably furnished : 
plans of sieges, maps of the seat of war, pistols, sabres, and belts, 
decorated the white walls, and a few books, and a stray army-list, 
betokened the habits of the occupant. 

While Ferguson disappeared to make some preparations for 
supper. Monsoon commenced a congratulation to the party upon 
the good fortune that had befallen them. “ Capital fellow is Joe 
— never without something good, and a rare one to pass the bot- 
tle. Oh ! here he comes ; be alive there. Sparks ; take a corner 
of the cloth: how deliciously juicy that ham looks; pass the 
madeira down there ; what’s under that cover — stewed kidneys ?” 
While Monsoon went on thus, we took our places at table, and 
set to with an appetite which only a newly-landed traveller ever 
knows. 

“ Another spoonful of the gravy ? Thank you. And so they 
say we’ve not been faring over well latterly,” said the Major; 
“ not word of truth in the report : our people have not been en- 
gaged. The only thing lately was a smart brush we had at the' 
Tamega. Poor Patrick, a countryman of ours, and myself, were 


230 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


serving with the Portuguese brigade, when Laborde drove us back 
upon the town, and actually routed us. The Portuguese general, 
caring little for any thing save his own safety, was making at once 
for the mountains, when Patrick called upon his battalion to face 
about and charge ; and nobly they did it, too. Down they came 
upon the advancing masses of the French, and literally hurled 
them back upon the main body. The other regiments, seeing this 
gallant stand, wheeled about and poured in a volley, and then, fix- 
ing bayonets, stormed a little mount beside the hedge, which com- 
manded the whole suburb of Villa Real. The French, who soon 
recovered their order, now prepared for a second attack, and came 
on in two dense columns, when Patrick, who had little confidence 
in the steadiness of his people, for any lengthened resistance, re- 
solved upon once more charging with the bayonet. The order was 
scarcely given when the French were upon us ; their flank, de- 
fended by some of La Houssaye’s heavy dragoons. For an 
instant, the conflict was doubtful, until poor Patrick fell mortally 
wounded upon the parapet, when the men, no longer hearing his bold 
cheer, nor seeing his noble figure in the advance, turned and fled, 
pell-mell back upon the town. As for me, blocked up amid the 
mass, I was cut down from the shoulder to the elbow, by a young 
fellow of about sixteen, who galloped about like a schoolboy on a 
holyday. The wound was only dangerous from the loss of blood, 
and so I contrived to reach Amacante without much difficulty ; 
from whence, with three or four others, I was ordered here until fit 
for service.^^ 

But what news from our own head-quarters ?’’ inquired I. 

All imaginable kind of rumours are afloat : some say that 
Craddock is retiring ; others, that a part of the army is in motion 
upon Caldas.’^ 

“ Then we are not going to have a very long sojourn here after 
all. Eh, Major ? Donna Maria de Tormes will be inconsolable. 
By the by, their house is just opposite us : have you never heard 
Monsoon mention his friends there ? 

“ Come, come, Joe, how can you be so foolish ?” 

But, Major, my dear friend, what signifies your modesty ? there 
is not a man in the service does not know it, save those in the last 
Gazette.’’ 

Indeed, Joe, I am very angry with you.” 

‘‘Well, then, by Jove, I must tell it myself; though, faith, lads, 
you lose not a little for want of Monsoon’s tact in the narra- 
tive.” 

“ Any thing is better than trusting to such a biographer,” cried 
the Major, “ so here goes : — 

“ When I was Acting Commissary General to the Portuguese 
forces, some few years ago, I obtained great experience of the 
habits of the people; for, though naturally of an unsuspecting 
temperament myself, I generally contrive to pick out the little 


THE IRISH DRAGOON 


231 


foibles of my associates, even upon a short acquaintance. Now, 
my appointment pleased me very much on this score ; it gave me 
little opportunities of examining the world; ‘the greatest study 
of mankind is man,’ — Sparks would say woman — ^but no 
matter. 

“ Now, I soon discovered that our ancient and very excellent 
allies, the Portuguese, with a beautiful climate, delicious wines, and 
very delightful wives and daughters, were the most infernal rogues 
and scoundrels ever met with. ‘ Make yourself thoroughly ac- 
quainted with the leading features of*the natives,’ said old Sir 
Harry to me, in a dispatch from head-quarters ; and, faith, it was 
not difficult ; such open, palpable, undisguised rascals never were 
heard of. I thought I knew a thing or two rnyself, when I landed ; 
but. Lord love you, I was a babe ; I was an infant in swaddling 
clothes, compared with them; and they humbugged me, ay, 
me / — till I began to suspect that I was only walking in my 
sleep. 

“ ‘ Why, Monsoon,’ said the General, ‘ they told me you were a 
sharp fellow, and yet the people here seem to work round you 
every day. ' This will never do. You must brighten up a little, or 
I shall be obliged to send you back.’ 

“ ‘ General,’ said I, ‘ they used to call me no fool in England, 
but, somehow, here ’ 

“ ‘ I understand,’ said he, ‘ you don’t know the Portuguese ; 
there’s but one way with them : strike quickly, and strike home. 
Never give them time for roguery ; for, if they have a moment’s 
reflection, they’ll cheat the devil himself; but, when you see 
the plot working, come slap down and decide the thing your 
own way.’ 

“ Well, now, there never was any thing so true as this advice, 
and, for the eighteen months I acted upon it, I never knew it 
fail. 

“ ‘ I want a thousand measures of wheat.’ 

“ ‘ Senhor Excellenza, the crops have been miserably deficient 
and ’ 

“ ‘ Sergeant-major,’ I would say, ‘ these poor people have 
no corn ; it’s a wine country ; let them make up the rations that 
way.’ 

“ The wheat came in that evening. 

“ ‘ One hundred and twenty bullocks wanted for the reserve.’ 

“ ‘ The cattle are all up the mountains.’ 

“ ‘ Let the alcalde catch them before night, or I’ll catch him.^ 

“Lord bless you! I had beef enough to feed the Peninsula. 
And in this way, while the forces were eating short allow- 
ance and half rations elsewhere, our brigade were plump as 
aldermen. 

“ When we lay in Andalusia this was easy enough. What a 
country to be sure ! such vineyards, such gardens, such delicious 


232 


CHARLES o’MALLEr, 


valleys, waving with corn and fat with olives ; actually, it seemed 
a kind of dispensation of Providence to make war in. There was 
every thing you could desire ; and, then, the people, like all your 
wealthy ones, were so timid, and so easily frightened, you could 
get what you pleased out of them by a little terror. My scouts 
managed this very well. 

‘ He is coming,’' they would say, ‘ after to-morrow.’ 

‘ Madre de Dios.’ 

‘ I hope he won’t burn the village.’ 

Questos infer nales Inglesesf how wicked they are.’ 

“‘You’d better try what a sack of moidores or doubloons 
might do with him ; he may refuse them, but make the effort.’ 

“ Ha !” said the Major, with a long-drawn sigh, “ those were 
pleasant times ; alas ! that they should ever come to an end. 
Well, among the old hidalgos I met, there was one Don Emanuel 
Selvio de Tormes, an awful old miser, rich as Croesus, and suspi- 
cious as the arch fiend himself. Lord, how I melted him down ! 
I quartered two squadrons of horse and a troop of flying artillery 
upon him. How the fellows did eat ! such a consumption of 
wines was never heard of; and, els they began to slacken a little, 
I took care to replace them by fresh arrivals — fellows from the 
mountains — caf adores they call them. At last, my friend Don 
Emanuel could stand it no longer, and he sent me a diplomatic 
envoy to negotiate terms, which, upon the whole, I must say, 
were fair enough, and, in a few days after, the capadores were 
withdrawn, and I took up my quarters at the chateau. I have 
had various chances and changes in this wicked world, but I am 
free to confess that I never passed a more agreeable time than the 
seven weeks I spent there. Don Emanuel, when properly ma- 
naged, became a very pleasant little fellow: Donna Maria, his 
wife, was a sweet creature. You need not be winking that way. 
Upon my life she was ; rather fat, to be sure, and her age some- 
thing verging upon the fifties ; but she had such eyes, black as 
sloes, and luscious as ripe grapes ; and she was always smiling, 
and ogling, and looking so sweet. Confound me if I think she 
wasn’t the most enchanting being in this world,, with about ten 
thousand pounds’ worth of jewels upon her fingers and in her 
ears. I have her before me at this instant, as she used to sit 
in the little arbour in the garden, with a Manillo cigar in her 
mouth, and a little brandy and water — quite weak you know — ^be- 
side her. 

“ ‘ Ah ! General,’ she used to say, — she always called me Gene- 
ral,— ‘ what a glorious career yours is ! a soldier is mdeed a man.’ 

“ Tiien she would look at poor Emanuel, who used to sit in a 
corner, holding his hand to his face for hours, calculating interest 
and cent, per cent., till he fell asleep. 

“ Now he laboured under a very singular malady,— not that I 
even knew it at the time, — a kind of luxation of the lower jaw 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


233 


which, when it came on, happened somehow to press upon some 
vital nerve or other, and left him perfectly paralysed till it was re- 
stored to its proper place. In fact during the time the agony lasted, 
he was like one in a trance, for though he could see and hear, he 
could neither speak nor move, and looked as if he had done with 
both, for many a day to come. 

Well, as I was saying, I knew nothing of all this, till a slight 
circumstance made it known to me. I was seated one evening in 
the little arbour I mentioned, with Donna Maria ; there was a lit- 
tle table before us, covered with wine and fruits, a dish of olives, 
some Castile oranges, and a fresh pine. I remember it well, my 
eye roamed over the little dessert, set out in old fashioned rich sil- 
ver dishes, then turned towards the lady herself, with rings and 
broaches, ear-rings and chains enough to reward one for sacking a 
town ; and I said to myself, ‘ Monsoon, Monsoon, this is better than 
long marches in the Pyrenees, with a cork tree for a bed curtain, and 
wet grass for a mattrass. How pleasantly one might jog on in this 
world, with this little country-house for his abode, and Donna 
Maria for a companion !’ 

“ I tasted the port, it was delicious. Now, I knew very little Por- 
tuguese, but I made some effort to ask, if there was much of it in 
the cellar. 

She smiled and said, ‘ 0 ! yes.’ 

‘‘ ‘ What a luxurious life one might lead here !’ thought I ; ‘ and, 
after all, perhaps Providence might remove Don Emanuel.’ 

« I finished the bottle as I thus meditated. The next was if 
possible more crusty. 

‘ This is a delicious retreat,’ said I, soliloquising. 

“ Donna Maria seemed to know what was passing in my mind, 
for she smiled too. 

‘‘ ‘ Yes,’ said I, in broken Portuguese, ‘ one ought to be very 
happy here, Donna Maria.’ 

‘‘ She blushed, and I continued : — 

“ What can one want for more in this life ; all the charms that 
readered Paradise what it was,’ — I took her hand here, — ‘ and made 
Adam blessed.’ 

Ah, General,’ said she, with a sigh, ‘ you are such a flat- 
terer.’ 

« ‘ Who could flatter,’ said I, with enthusiasm, ‘ when there aije 
not words enough to express what he feels : this was true, for my 
Portuguese was fast failing me,— ‘ but if I ever was happy, it is 
now.’ 

« I took another pull at the port. 

« ‘ If I only thought,’ said I, ‘ that my presence here was not 
thought unwelcome ’ 

‘ Fie, General,’ said she, ‘how could you say such a thing ? 

If I only thought I was not hated,’ said I, tremblingly. 

«‘Oh!’ said she again. 


234 


CHARLES O'MALLET, 


‘ Despised.’ 

«‘Oh!’ 

‘ Loathed.’ 

^ She pressed my hand ; I kissed it ; she hurriedly snatched it 
from me, and pointed towards a lime tree near, beneath which, in 
the cool enjoyment of his cigar sat the spare and detested figure of 
Don Emanuel. 

‘ Yes,’ thought I, there he is, the only bar to my good fortune : 
were it not for him, I should not be long before I became possessor 
of this excellent old chateau^ with a most indiscretionary power 
over the cellar. Don Mauricius Monsoon would speedily assume 
his place among the grandees of Portugal.’ 

‘‘ I know not how long my revery lasted, nor, indeed, how the 
evening passed ; but I remember well the moon was up, and a 
sky bright with a thousand stars was shining, as I sat beside the 
fair Donna Maria, endeavouring, with such Portuguese as it 
pleased fate to bestow on me, to instruct her touching my war- 
like services and deeds of arms. The fourth bottle of port was 
ebbing beneath my eloquence, as responsively her heart beat, when 
I heard a slight rustle in the branches near. I looked, and, hea- 
vens, what a sight did I behold ! There was little Don Emanuel 
stretched upon the grass, with his mouth wide open, his face pale 
as death, his arms stretched out at either side, and his legs stiffen- 
ed straight out. I ran over and asked if he were ill, but no 
answer came. I lifted up an arm, but it fell heavily upon the 
ground as I let it go ; the leg did likewise. I touched his nose ; it 
was cold. 

‘ Hollo,’ thought I, ‘ is it so : this comes of mixing water with 
your sherry. I saw where it would end.’ 

Now, upon my life, I felt sorry for the little fellow ; but, some- 
how, one gets so familiarised with this sort of thing in a campaign, 
that one only half feels in a case like this. 

‘ Yes,’ said I ; ‘ man is but grass ; but I, for one, must make 
hay while the sun shines. Now for the Donna Maria,’ for the 
poor thing was asleep in the arbour all this while. 

“ ‘ Donna,’ said I, shaking her by the elbow ‘ Donna,’ said I, 
^ don’t be shocked at what Pm going to say.’ 

‘‘ ‘ Ah ! General,’ said she, with a sigh, ‘ say no more ; I must 
not listen to you.’ 

« ‘ You don’t know that,’ said I, with a knowing look ; ‘you 
don’t know that.’ 

“ ‘ Why, what can you mean ?’ 

“ ‘ The little fellow is done for ;’ for the port was working strong 
now, and destroyed all my fine sensibility. ‘ Yes, Donna,’ said I, 
* you are free,’ — ^here I threw myself on my knees ; ‘ free to make 
me the happiest of commissaries and the j oiliest grandee of Portu- 
gal that ever ’ 

“ ‘ But Don Emanuel ?’ 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


235 


“ ‘ Run out — dry— empty/ inverting a finished decanter, to ty- 
pify my words as I spoke. 

‘ He is not dead/ said she, with a scream. 

“ ‘ Even so,’ said I, with a hiccup ; ‘ ordered for service in a 
better world, where there are neither inspections nor arrears.’ , 
Before the words were well out, she sprung from the bench, 
and rushed over to the spot where the little Don lay. What she 
said or did I know not, but the next moment he sat bolt upright 
in the grass, and, as he held his jaw with one hand and supported 
himself on the other, vented such a torrent of abuse and insult 
at me, that, for want of Portuguese enough to reply, I rejoined in 
English, in which I swore pretty roundly for five minutes. Mean- 
while, the Donna had summoned the servants, who removed Don 
Emanuel to the house ; where, on my return, I found my luggage 
displayed before the door, with a civil hint to deploy in orderly 
time, and take ground elsewhere. 

“ In a few days, however, his anger cooled down, and I re- 
ceived a polite note from Donna Maria, that the Don at length 
began to understand the joke, and begged I would return to the 
chateau, and that he would expect me at dinner the same day.” 

“With which, of course, you complied ?” 

“ Which of course I did. Forgive your enemies, my dear boy; 
it is only Christian-like ; and, really, we lived very happily ever 
after : the Donna was a mighty clever woman, and a dear good 
soul beside.” 

It was late when the Major concluded his story; so, after 
wishing Ferguson a good night, we took our leave, and retired for 
the night to our quarters. 


236 


CHARLES o’MALLET, 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

LISBON. 

The tramp of horses’ feet and the sound of voices beneath my 
window, roused me from a deep sleep. I sprung up, and drew 
aside the curtain. What a strange confusion beset me as I looked 
forth ! Before me lay a broad and tranquil river, whose opposite 
shore, deeply wooded, and studded with villas and cottages, rose 
abruptly from the water’s edge : vessels of war lay tranquilly in 
the stream, their pennants trailing in the tide: the loud boom 
of a morning gun rolled along the surface, awaking a hundred 
echoes as it passed, and the lazy smoke rested for some minutes 
on the glassy water as it blended with the thin air of the morn- 
ing. 

“Where am I ?” was my first question to myself, as I con- 
tinued to look from side to side, unable to collect my scattered 
senses. 

One word sufficed to recall me to myself, as I heard Power’s 
voice, from without, call out, — 

“ Charley ! O’Malley ! I say. Come down here !” 

I hurriedly threw on my clothes, and went to the door. 

Well, Charley ! I’ve been put in the harness rather soonei 
than I expected. Here’s old Douglas has been sitting up all 
night, writing despatches ; and I must hasten on to head quarters, 
without a moment’s delay. There’s work before us, that’s cer- 
tain ; but when, where, and how, of that I know nothing. You 
may expect the route every moment ; the French are still advanc- 
ing. Meanwhile, I have a couple of commissions for you to 
execute. First, here’s a packet for Hammersly : you are sure to 
meet him, with the regiment, in a day or two. I have some 
scruples about asking you this — ^but, confound it! — ^you’re too 
sensible a fellow to care ” 

Here he hesitated ; and, as I coloured to the eyes, for some 
minutes he seemed uncertain how to proceed. At length, recover- 
ing himself, he went on : — 

“ Now for the other. This is a most loving epistle from a poor 
devil of a midshipman, written last night, by a tallow candle, in 
a cockpit, containing vows of eternal adoration and a lock of hair. 
I promised faithfully to deliver it myself ; for the Thunderer sails 
for Gibraltar next tide, and he cannot go ashore for an instant. 
However, as Sir Arthur’s billet may be of more importance than 
the reefer’s, I must intrust its safe keeping to your hands. Now, 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


237 


then, don’t look so devilish sleepy ; but rub your eyes, and seem 
to understand what Pm saying. This is the address: — ^ La 
Senhora Inez da Rebiera Rua Nuova, opposite the barber’s 
you’ll not neglect it. So, now, my dear boy, till our next meet- 
ing, adios 

Stop ! for heaven’s sake, not so fast, I pray. Where’s the 
street ?” 

“ The Rua Nuova. Remember Figaro, my boy. ^ Cinque per- 
ruche.’ ” 

‘‘ But, what am I to do ?” 

To do ! what a question ! Any thing ; every thing. Be a 
good diplomate ; speak of the torturing agony of the lover, for 
which I can vouch (the boy is only fifteen) ; swear that he is to 
return in a month, first lieutenant of the Thunder Bomb, with 
intentions that even Madame Dalrymple would approve.” 

“ What nonsense,” said I, blushing to the eyes. 

“ And if that suffice not, I know of but one resource.” 

‘‘ Which is ?” 

‘‘ Make love to her yourself. Ay, even so. Don’t look so con- 
foundedly vinegar : the girl I hear is a devilish pretty one ; the 
house pleasant ; and I sincerely wish I could exchange duties with 
you ; leaving you to make your bows to his Excellency the C. 0. 
F., and myself free to make mine to La Senhora. And now, 
push along, old red cap.” 

So saying, he made a significant cut of his whip at the Portu- 
guese guide, and in another moment was out of sight. 

My first thought was one of regret at Power’s departure. For 
some time past we had been inseparable companions ; and, not- 
withstanding the reckless and wild gayety of his conduct, I had ever 
found him ready to assist me in every difficulty, and that with an 
address and dexterity a more calculating adviser might not have 
possessed. I was now utterly alone ; for, though Monsoon and 
the Adjutant were still in Lisbon, as was also Sparks, I never 
could make intimates of them. 

I ate my breakfast with a heavy heart ; my solitary position 
again suggesting thoughts of home and kindred. Just at this 
moment my eyes fell upon the packet destined for Hammersly : 
I took it up, and weighed it in my hand. Alas ! thought I, how 
much of my destiny may lie within that envelope ! how fatally 
may my after life be influenced by it ! It felt heavy, as though 
there was something besides letters. True, too true : there was a 
picture ; Lucy’s portrait ! The cold drops of perspiration stood 
upon my forehead, as my fingers traced the outline of a miniature 
case in the parcel. I became deadly weak, and sank, half-faint- 
ing, upon a chair. And such is the end of my first dream of 
happiness ? How have I duped, how have I deceived myself! 
For, alas! though Lucy had never responded to my proffered 
vows of affection, yet had I ever nurtured in my heart a secret 


238 


CHARLES O^MALLEY, 


hope that I was not altogether uncared for. Every look she had 
given me, every word she had spoken, the tone of her voice, her 
step, her every gesture were before me; all confirming my delusion. 
And yet 1 could bear no more, and burst into tears. 

The loud call of a cavalry trumpet aroused me. 

How long I had passed in this state of sad despondency I knew 
not ; but it was long past noon when I rallied myself. My charger 
was already waiting me ; and a second blast of the trumpet told 
that the inspection in the Plaza was about to commence. 

As I continued to dress, I gradually rallied from my depressing 
thoughts ; and, ere I belted my sabertasche, the current of my 
ideas had turned from their train of sadness to one of hardihood 
and daring. Lucy Dashwood had treated me like a wilful school- 
boy. Mayhap, I may prove myself as gallant a soldier as even 
him she has preferred before me. 

A third sound of the trumpet cut short my reflections, and I 
sprung into the saddle, and hastened towards the Plaza. As I 
dashed along the streets, my horse, maddened with the impulse 
that stirred my own heart, curveted and plunged unceasingly. 
As I reached the Plaza, the crowd became dense, and I was 
obliged to pull up. The sound of the music, the parade, the 
tramp of the infantry, and the neighing of the horses were, how- 
ever, too much for my mettlesome steed, and he became nearly 
unmanageable ; he plunged fearfully, and twice reared as though 
he would have fallen back. As I scattered the foot-passengers 
right and left with terror, my eye fell upon one lovely girl, who, 
tearing herself from her companion, rushed wildly towards an 
open doorway for shelter : suddenly, however, changing her in- 
tention, she came forward a few paces, and then, as if overcome 
by fear, stood stock-still, her hands clasped upon her bosom, her 
eyes upturned, her features deadly pale, while her knees seemed 
bending beneath her. Never did I behold a more beautiful ob- 
ject : her dark hair had fallen loose upon her shoulder, and she 
stood the very idM of the “ Madonna supplicating.” My glance 
was short as a lightning flash ; for, the same instant, my horse 
swerved, and dashed forwards right at the place where she was 
standing. One terrific cry rose from the crowd, who saw her 
danger. Beside her stood a muleteer, who had drawn up his 
mule and cart close beside the footway for safety : she made one 
eflbrt to reach it, but her outstretched arms alone moved, and, 
paralysed by terror, she sank motionless upon the pavement. 
There was but one course open to me, now : so, collecting myself 
for the eflbrt, I threw my horse upon his haunches, and then, 
dashing the spurs into his flanks, breasted him at the mule cart. 
With one spring he rose, and cleared it at a bound, while the very 
air rang with the acclamations of the multitude, and a thousand 
bravos saluted me as I alighted upon the opposite side. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


239 


Well done, O’Malley sang out the little Adjutant, as I flew 
past and pulled up in the middle of the Plaza. 

“Something devilish like Galway in that leap,” said a very 
musical voice beside me ; and, at the same instant, a tall, soldier- 
like man, in an undress dragoon frock, touched his cap, and said, 

“ A Fourteenth man, I perceive, sir. May I introduce myself — 
Major O’Shaughnessy.” 

I bowed, and shook the Major’s proffered hand, while he con- 
tinued : — 

“ Old Monsoon mentioned your name to us this morning. You 
came out together, if I mistake not ?” 

“ Yes *, but, somehow, Pve missed the Major since my land- 
ing.” 

“ Oh, you’ll see him presently ; he’ll be on parade. By the 
by, he wishes particularly to meet you. We dine to-day at the 

‘ Quai de Soderi,’ and if you’re not engaged . Yes, this 

is the person,” said he, turning at the moment towards a servant, 
who, with a card in his hand, seemed to search for some one in the 
crowd. 

The man approached, and handed it to me. 

“ What can this mean ?” said I ; “ Don Emanuel de Blacas y 
Silviero, Rua Nuova.” 

“ Why, that’s the great Portuguese contractor ; the intendant 
of half the army ; the richest fellow in Lisbon. Have you known 
him long ?” 

“ Never heard of him till now.” 

“ By Jove, you’re in luck ! No man gives such dinners ; he 
has such a cellar. I’ll wager a fifty it was his daughter you took" 
in the flying leap a while ago. I hear she is a beautiful crea- 
ture.”* 

“ Yes,” thought I, “ that must be it : and yet, strange enough, 
I think the name and address are familiar to me.” 

“ Ten to one, you’ve heard Monsoon speak of him ; he’s most 
intimate there. But here comes the Major.” 

And, as he spoke, the illustrious Commissary came forward, 
holding a vast bundle of papers in one hand, and his snuff-box in 
the other ; and followed by a long string of clerks, contractors, 
assistant surgeons, paymasters, &c., all eagerly pressing forward, 
to be heard. 

“ It’s quite impossible ; I can’t do it to-day. Victualling and 
physicking are very good things, but must be done in season. I 
have been up all night at the accounts. Havn’t I, O’Malley ?” — 
here he winked at me most significantly; — “and then I have the 
forage and stoppage fund to look through,-^we dine at six, sharp,” 
said he, sotto voce — “ which will leave me withorut one minute 
unoccupied for the next twenty-four hours. Look to your toggery 
this evening ; I’ve something in my eye for you, O’Malley.” 

“Oflicers unattached to their several corps will fall into the middle 


240 


CHARLES O’MALLEY, 


of the Plaza, said a deep voice among the crowd ; and, in obedi- 
ence to the order, I rode forward, and placed myself with a number 
of others, apparently newly joined, in the open square. A short 
gray-haired old colonel, with a dark eagle look, proceeded to inspect 
us, reading from a paper, as he came along : — 

“ Mr. Hepton, 6th Foot ; commission bearing date 11th January ; 
drilled ; proceed to Ovar, and join his regiment.’^ 

‘•Mr. Gronow, Fusilier Guards; remains with depot.” 

“ Captain Mortimer, 1st Dragoons ; appointed aid-de-camp to 
the general commanding the cavalry brigade.” 

“ Mr. Sparks : where is Mr. Sparks ? Mr. Sparks, absent from 
parade : make a note of it.” 

“ Mr. O’Malley, 14th Light Dragoons. Mr. O’Malley : oh, I re- 
member ; I have received a letter from Sir George Dash wood con- 
cerning you. You will hold yourself in readiness to march. Your 
friends desire that, before you may obtain any staff appointment, 
you should have the opportunity of seeing some service. Am I to 
understand such is your wish ?” 

“Most certainly.” 

“May I have the pleasure of your company at dinner to-day ?” 

“ I regret that I have already accepted an invitation to dine with 
Major Monsoon.” 

“ With Major Monsoon ! ah, indeed ! Perhaps it might be 
as well I should mention — but no matter. I wish you good 
morning.” 

So saying, the little colonel rode off, leaving me to suppose that 
my dinner engagement had not raised me in his estimation, though 
why I could not' exactly determine. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


241 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE STRADA NUOVA. 

Our dinner was a long and uninteresting one, and, as I found 
that the Major was likely to prefer his seat as chairman of the party, 
to the seductions of ladies’ society, I took the first opportunity of 
escaping, and left the room. 

It was a rich moonlight night, as I found myself in the street. 
My way, which led along the banks of the Tagus, was almost as 
light as in daytime, and crowded with walking parties, who 
sauntered carelessly along, in the enjoyment of the cool refreshing 
night air. On inquiring, I discovered that the Rua Nuova was at 
the extremity of the city ; but as the road led along by the river, I 
did not regret the distance, but walked on with increasing pleasure 
at the charms of so heavenly a climate and country. 

After three quarters of an hour’s walk, the streets became by 
degrees less and less crowded. A solitary party passed me now 
and then ; the buzz of distant voices succeeded to the . gay laughter 
and merry tones of the passing groups, and, at length, my own 
footsteps alone awoke the echoes along the deserted pathway. I 
stopped every now and then to gaze upon the tranquil river, whose 
eddies were circling in the pale silver of the moonlight. I listened 
with attentive ear, as the night breeze wafted to me the far-off 
sounds of a guitar, and the deep tones of some lover’s serenade ; 
while again the tender warbling of the nightingale came borne 
across the stream, on a wind rich with the odour of the orange- 
tree. 

As thus I lingered on my way, the time stole on ; and it was 
near midnight ere I roused myself from the revery surrounding 
objects had thrown about me. I stopped suddenly, and for some 
minutes I struggled with myself to discover if I was really awake. 
As I walked along, lost in my reflections, I had entered a little 
garden beside the river ; fragrant plants and lovely flowers bloomed 
on every side ; the orange, the camelia, the cactus, and the rich 
laurel of Portugal were blending their green and golden hues 
around me, while the very air was filled with delicious music. 

Was it a dream, could such ecstasy be real ?” I asked myself, as 
the rich notes swelled upwards, in their strength, and sunk in soft 
cadence to tones of melting harmony, now bursting forth in the 
full force of gladness, the voices blended together in one stream of 
mellow music, and, suddenly ceasing, the soft but thrilling shake 
of a female voice rose upon the air, and its plaintive beauty stirred 
the very heart. The proud tramp of martial music succeeded tr 
31 X 


242 


CHARLES o’MALLEY, 


the low wailing cry of agony; then came’ the crash of battle, the 
clang of steel ; the thunder of the fight rolled on in all its 
majesty, increasing in its maddening excitement till it ended in one 
loud shout of victory. 

All was still ; not a breath moved, not a leaf stirred, and again 
was I relapsing into my dreamy skepticism, when again the notes 
swelled upwards in concert. But now their accents were changed, 
and, in low, subdued tones, faintly and slowly uttered, the prayer 
of thanksgiving rose to heaven, and spoke their gratefulness. I 
almost fell upon my .knees, and already the tears filled my eyes, as 
I drank in the sounds. My heart was full to bursting, and, even 
now as I write it, my pulse throbs as I remember the hymn of 
the Abencerrages. 

When I rallied from my trance of excited pleasure, my first 
thought was, — where was I, and how came I there ? Before I 
could resolve my doubts upon the question, my attention was 
turned in another direction, for close beside me the branches moved 
forwards, and a pair of arms were thrown around my neck, while a de- 
licious voice cried out, in an accent of childish delight, “ Trovado 
At the same instant a lovely head sank upon my shoulder, cover- 
ing it with tresses of long brown hair. The arms pressed me still 
more closely, till I felt her very heart beating against my side. 

“ Mio fradfe^^ said a soft trembling voice, as her fingers played 
in my hair and patted my temples. 

What a situation mine ! I well knew that some mistaken iden- 
tity had been the cause ; but, still, I could not repress my inclina- 
tion to return the embrace, as I pressed my lips upon the fair fore- 
head that leaned upon my bosom : at the same moment she threw 
back her head, as if to look me more fully in the face. One glance 
sufficed : blushing deeply over her cheeks and neck, she sprung 
from my arms, and uttering a faint cry, staggered against a tree. 
In an instant I saw it was the lovely girl I had met in the morning, 
and, without losing a second, I poured out apologies for my intru- 
sion, with all the eloquence I was master of, till she suddenly in- 
terrupted me by asking if I spoke French ? Scarcely had I recom- 
menced my excuses in that language, when a third party appeared 
upon the stage. This was a short elderly man, in a green uniform, 
with several decorations upon his breast, and a cocked hat, with a 
most flowing plume, in his right hand. 

“ May I beg to know whom I have the honour of receiving 
inquired he, in very excellent English, as he advanced with a look 
of very ceremonious but distant politeness. 

I immediately explained that, presuming upon the card which 
his servant had presented me, I had resolved on paying my re- 
spects, when a mistake had led me accidentally into his garden. 

My apologies had not come to an end, when he folded me in 
his arms and overwhelmed me with thanks ; at the same time say- 
ing a few words in Portuguese to his daughter, she stooped down 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


243 


and taking my hand gently within her own, touched it with her 
lips. 

This piece of touching courtesy — which I afterwards found 
meant little or nothing — affected me deeply at the time, and I felt 
the blood rush to my face and forehead, half in pride, half in a 
sense of shame. My confusion was, however, of short duration ; 
for, taking my arm, the old gentleman led me along a few paces, 
and turning round a small clump of olives, entered a little sum- 
mer-house. Here a considerable party were assembled, which, 
for their picturesque effect, could scarcely have been better man- 
aged on the stage. 

Beneath the mild lustre of a large lamp of stained glass, half hid 
in the overhanging boughs, was spread a table, covered with ves- 
sels of gold and silver plate, of gorgeous richness ; drinking cups 
and goblets of antique pattern, shone among cups of Sevres china 
or Venetian glass; delicious fruit, looking a thousand times more 
tempting for being contained in baskets of silver foliage, peeped 
from amid a profusion of fresh flowers, whose odour was continu- 
ally shed around by a slight jet (Teaxi that played among the 
leaves. Around, upon the grass, seated upon cushions, or reclining 
on Genoa carpets, were several beautiful girls, in most becoming 
costumes ; their dark locks and darker eyes speaking of “ the soft 
south,^’ while their expressive gestures and animated looks be- 
tokened a race whose temperament is glowing as their clime. 
Ther6 were several men also, the greater number of whom ap- 
peared in uniform — ^bronzed, soldier-like fellows, who had the 
jaunty air and easy carriage of their calling — among whom was 
one Englishman, or at least so I guessed from his wearing the uni- 
form of a heavy dragoon regiment. 

This is my daughter’s fetej’ said Don Emanuel, as he ushered 
me into the assembly ; her birthday ; a sad day it might have 
been for us, had it not been for your courage and forethought.” 
So saying, he commenced a recital of my adventures to the by- 
standers, who overwhelmed me with civil speeches and a shower 
of soft looks, that completed the fascination of the fairy scene. 
Meanwhile, the fair Inez had made room for me beside her, and I 
found myself at once the lion of the party ; each vying with her 
neighbour who should show me most attention. La Senhora her- 
self directed her attention exclusively to me; a circumstance 
which, considering the awkwardness of our first meeting, I felt no 
small surprise at, and which led me, somewhat maliciously I con- 
fess, to make a half allusion to it, feeling some interest at ascer- 
taining for whom the flattering reception was really intended. 

“ I thought you were Charles,” said she, blushing, in answer to 
my question. 

“ And you were right,” said I, I am Charles.” 

Nay, but I meant my Charles.” 

There was something of touching softness in the tones of these 


244 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


few words that made me half wish I were her Charles. Whether 
my look evinced as much or not, I cannot tell : but she speedily 
added : — 

He is my brother : he is captain in the cagadores, and I ex- 
pected him here this evening. Some one saw a figure pass the 
gate and conceal himself in the trees, and I was sure it was he.’^ 

What a disappointment,” said I. 

Yes ; was it not ?” said she, hurriedly ; and then, as if remem- 
bering how ungracious was the speech, she blushed more deeply, 
and hung down her head. 

Just at this moment, as I looked up, I caught the eye of the 
English officer fixed steadfastly upon me. He was a tall fine-look- 
ing fellow, of about two or three and thirty, with marked and 
handsome features, which, however, conveyed an expression of 
something sneering and sinister, that struck me the moment I saw 
him. His glass was fixed in his eye, and I perceived that he re- 
garded us both with a look of no common interest. My attention 
did not, however, dwell long upon the circumstance, for Don 
Emanuel, coming behind my shoulder, asked me if I would not 
take out his daughter in the bolero they were just forming. 

To my shame I was obliged to confess that I had never even 
seen the dance ; and, while I continued to express my resolve to 
correct the errors of my education, the Englishman came up and 
asked the Senhora to be his partner. This put the very key-stone 
upon my annoyance, and I had half turned angrily away from the 
spot, when I heard her decline his invitation, and avow her 
determination not to dance. 

There was something which pleased me so much at this refusal, 
that I could not help turning upon her a look of most grateful 
acknowledgment ; but, as I did so, I once more encountered the 
gaze of the Englishman, whose knitted brows and compressed 
lips were bent upon me in a manner there was no mistaking. 
This was neither the fitting time nor place to seek any explanation 
of the circumstance ; so, wisely resolving to wait a better occasion, 
I turned away and resumed my attentions towards my fair com- 
panion. 

Then you don’t care for the bolero ?” said I, as she re-seated 
herself upon the grass. 

Oh ! I delight in it,” said she, enthusiastically. 

“ But you refused to dance ?” 

She hesitated, blushed, tried to mutter something, and was silent. 

I had determined to learn it,” said I, half jestingly ; “ but, if 
you will not dance with me ” 

“Yes; that I will — indeed I will.” 

“But you declined my countryman. Is it because he is 
inexpert ?” 

The Senhora hesitated ; looked confused for some minutes ; 
at length, colouring slightly, she said, “ I have already 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


245 


made one rude speech to you this evening; I fear lest I shall 
make a second. Tell me, is Captain Trevyllian your friend ?” 

“If you mean that gentleman yonder, I never saw him 
before.” 

“ Nor heard of him ?” 

“ Nor that either. We are total strangers to each other.” 

“ Well, then, I may confess it. I do not like him. My father 
prefers him to any one else, invites him daily here, and, in fact, 
instals him as his first favourite. But, still, I cannot like him ; 
and yet I have done my best to do so.” 

“ Indeed !” said I, pointedly. “What are his chief demerits? 
Is he not agreeable ? is he not clever ?” 

“ Oh ! on the contrary, most agreeable ; fascinating, I should 
say, in conversation ; has travelled ; seen a great deal of the 
world; is very accomplished, and has distinguished himself on 
several occasions : he wears, as you see, a Portuguese order.” 

“And, with all that, ?” 

“And with all that I -cannot bear him. He is a duellist, a 
notorious duellist. My brother, too, knows more of him, and 
avoids him. But let us not speak further : I see his eyes are again 
fixed on us ; and, somehow, I fear him, without well knowing 
wherefore.” 

A movement among the party ; shawls and mantillas were 
sought for on all sides; and the preparations for leave-taking ap- 
peared general. Before, however, I had time to express my 
thanks for my hospitable reception, the guests had assembled in a 
circle around the Senhora, and, toasting her with a parting bum- 
per, they commenced in concert a little Portuguese song of fare- 
well; each verse concluding with a good night, which, as they 
separated and held their way homewards, might now and then be 
heard, rising upon the breeze, and wafting their last thoughts back 
to her. The concluding verse, which struck me much, I have 
essayed to translate. It ran somehow thus : — 

The morning breezes chill 
Now close our joyous scene, 

And yet we linger still, 

Where we’ve so happy been. 

How blest were it to live 

With hearts like ours so light, 

And only part to give 

One long and last Good Night, 

Good Night! 

With many an invitation to renew my visit, most kindly pre- 
ferred by Don Emanuel, and warmly seconded by his daughter, 
I, too, wished my good night, and turned my steps homeward. 


246 


CHARLES o’mALLET, 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

THE VILLA. 

The first object which presented itself to my eye, the next 
morning, was the midshipman’s packet, intrusted to my care by 
Power. I turned it over to read the address more carefully, and 
what was my surprise to find that the name was that of my fair 
friend, Donna Inez ! 

This certainly thickens the plot,” thought I ; and so I have 
now fallen upon the real Simon Pure, and the reefer has had the 
good fortune to distance the dragoon. Well, thus much, I cannot 
say that I regret it. Now, however, for the parade, and then for 
the villa.” 

I say, O’Malley,” cried out Monsoon, as I appeared on the 
Plaza, I have accepted an invitation for you to-day. We dine 
across the river. Be at my quarters a little before six, and we’ll 
go together.” 

I should rather have declined the invitation, but, not well 
knowing why, and having no ready excuse, acceded and promised 
to be punctual. 

“ You were at Don Emanuel’s last night ; I heard of you.” 

Yes ; I spent a most delightful evening.” 

That’s your ground, my boy ; a million of moidores, and 
such a campagna in Valencia ; a better thing than the Dalrymple 
affair. Don’t blush. I know it all. But stay; here they 
come.” 

As he spoke, the general commanding, with a numerous staff, 
rode forward. As they passed, I recognised a face which I had 
certainly seen before, and in a moment remembered it was 
that of the dragoon of the evening before. He passed quite 
close, and, fixing his eyes steadfastly on me, evinced no sign of 
recognition. 

The parade lasted Jibove two hours, and it was with a feeling 
of impatience I mounted a fresh horse to canter out to the villa. 
When I arrived, the servant informed me that Don Emanuel was 
in the city, but that the Senhora was in the garden ; offering, at 
the same time, to escort me. Declining this honour, I intrusted my 
horse to his keeping, and took my way towards the arbour where 
last I had seen her. 

I had not walked many paces when the sound of a guitar struck 
on my ear. I listened. It was the Senhora’s voice. She was 
singing a Venetian canzonetta, in a low, soft, warbling tone, as one 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


247 


lost in a revery, as though the music was a mere accompaniment 
to some pleasant thought. I peeped through the dense leaves, and 
there she sat upon a low garden seat ; an open book on the rustic 
table before her ;* beside her, embroidery, which seemed only 
lately abandoned. As I looked, she placed her guitar upon the 
ground, and began to play with a small spaniel, that seemed to 
have waited with impatience for some testimony of favour. A 
moment more, and she grew weary of this, then heaving a long but 
gentle sigh, leaned back upon her chair, and seemed lost in 
thought. I now had ample time to regard her, and, certainly, 
never beheld any thing more lovely. There was a character of 
classic beauty, and her brow, though fair and ample, was still 
strongly marked upon the temples ; the eyes, being deep and 
squarely set, imparted a look of intensity to her features which 
their own softness alone subdued; while the short upper lip, 
which trembled with every passing thought, spoke qf a nature ten- 
der and impressionable, and yet impassioned. Her foot and ankle 
peeped from beneath her dark robe, and, certainly, nothing could 
be more faultless; while her hand, fair as marble, bl,ue veined 
and dimpled, played amid the long tresses of her hair that, 
as if in the wantonness of beauty, fell carelessly upon her 
shoulders. 

It was some time before I could tear myself from the fascination 
of so much beauty, and it needed no common effort to leave the 
spot. As I made a short dHour in the garden before approach- 
ing the arbour, she saw me as I came forward, and, kissing her 
hand gayly, made room for me beside her. 

I have been fortunate in finding you alone, Senhora,” said I, 
as I seated myself by her side ; “ for I am the bearer of a letter 
to you. How far it may interest you I know not, but to the 
writer’s feelings I am bound to testify.” 

A letter to me ? you jest, surely.” 

That I am in earnest this will show,” said I, producing the 
packet. 

She took it from my hands, turned it about and about, examined 
the seal, while, half doubtingly, she said : — 

The name is mine ; but, still ” 

You fear to open it: is it not so ? But, after all, you need not 
be surprised if it’s from Howard : that’s his name, I think.” 

Howard ! from little Edward !” exclaimed she enthusiasti- 
cally ; and, tearing open the letter, she pressed it to her lips, her 
eyes sparkling With pleasure, and her cheek glowing as she read. 
I watched her as she ran rapidly over the lines ; and I confess 
that, more than once, a pang of discontent shot through my heart 
that the midshipman’s letter could call up such interest ; not that 
I was in love with her myself, but yet, I know not how it was, I 
had fancied her affections unengaged, and, without asking myself 
wherefore, I wished as much. 


248 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


Poor dear boy,” said she, as she came to the end. 

How these few and simple words sank into my heart as I re- 
membered how they had once been uttered to myself, and in per- 
haps no very dissimilar circumstances. 

“ But where is the souvenir he speaks of?” said she. 

“ The souvenir. Pm not aware ” 

Oh, I hope you have not lost the lock of hair he sent me !” 

I was quite dumbfounded at this, and could not remember 
whether I had received it from Power or not ; so answered at 
random : — 

Yes : I must have left it on my table.” 

, “ Promise me, then, to bring it to-morrow with you.” 

Certainly,” said I, with something of pique in my manner. 
‘‘ If I find such a means of making my visit an agreeable one, I 
shall certainly not omit it.” 

You are quite right,” said she, either not noticing or not caring 
for the tone of my reply. “ You will, indeed, be a welcome mes- 
senger. Do you know, he was one of my lovers ?” 

One of them ! indeed ! Then pray how many do you number 
at this moment ?” 

What a question ! as if I could possibly count them. Besides 
there are so many absent ; some on leave, some deserters, perhaps, 
that I might be reckoning among my troops, but who, possibly, 
form part of the forces of the enemy. Do you know little 
Howard ?” 

I cannot say that we are personally acquainted, but I am en- 
abled, through the medium of a friend, to say, that his sentiments 
are not strange to me. Besides, I have really pledged myself to 
support the prayer of his petition.” 

“ How very good of you ! for which reason, you’ve forgotten, 
if not lost, the lock of hair.” 

That you shall have to-morrow,” said I, pressing my hand 
solemnly to my heart. 

“Well, then, don’t forget it: but hush; here comes Captain 
Trevyllian. So you say Lisbon really pleases you,” said she, in a 
tone of voice totally changed, as the dragoon of the preceding 
evening approached. 

“ Mr. O’Malley, Captain Trevyllian.” 

We bowed stiffly and haughtily to each other, as two men salute 
who are unavoidably obliged to bow, with every wish on either 
side to avoid acquaintance. So, at least, I construed his bow ; so 
I certainly intended my own. 

It requires no common tact to give conversation the appearance 
of unconstraint and ease when it is evident that each person oppo- 
site is labouring under excited feelings ; so that, notwithstanding 
the Senhora’s efforts to engage our attention by the commonplaces 
of the day, we remained almost silent, and, after a few observa- 
tions of no interest, took our several leaves. Here again a new 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


249 


source of awkwardness arose; for, as we walked together towards 
the house, where our horses stood, neither party seemed disposed 
to speak. 

‘‘You are probably returning to Lisbon said he, coldly. 

I assented by a bow. Upon which, drawing his bridle within 
his arm, he bowed once more, and turned away in an opposite 
direction ; while I, glad to be relieved of an unsought for com- 
panionship, returned alone to the town. 


CHAPTER XL. 

THE DINNER. 

It was with no peculiar pleasure that I dressed for our dinner 
party. Major O’Shaughnessy, our host, was one of that class of 
my countrymen I cared least for, — a riotous, good-natured, noisy, 
loud-swearing, punch-drinking western ; full of stories of impossi- 
ble fox hunts, and unimaginable duels, which all were acted either 
by himself or some member of his family. The company consisted 
of the Adjutant, Monsoon, Ferguson, Trevyllian, and some eight 
or ten officers with whom I was unacquainted. As is usual on 
such occasions, the wine circulated freely, and, amid the din and 
clamour of excited conversation, the fumes of burgundy, and the 
vapour of cigar smoke, we most of us became speedily mystified. 
As for me, my evil destiny would have it that I was placed exactly 
opposite Trevyllian, with whom, upon more than one occasion, I 
happened to differ in opinion, and the question was in itself some 
trivial and unimportant one ; yet the tone which he assumed, and 
of which I too could not divest myself in reply, boded any thing 
rather than an amicable feeling between us. The noise and tur- 
moil about prevented the others remarking the circumstance ; but 
I could perceive in his manner what I deemed a studied deter- 
mination to promote a quarrel, while I felt within myself a most 
unchristian-like desire to indulge his fancy. 

“ Worse fellows at passing the bottle than Trevyllian and O’Mal- 
ley there, I have rarely sojourned with,” cried the Major; “look 
if they haven’t got eight decanters between them : and here we are 
in a state of African thirst.” 

“ How can you expect him to think of the thirst when such per- 
fumed billets as that come showering upon him ?” said the Adju- 
tant, alluding to a rose-coloured epistle a servant had placed within 
my hands. 

“ Eight miles of a stone wall country in fifteen minutes ! devil a 

32 


250 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


lie in it said O’Shaughnessy, striking the table with his clenched 
fists : show me the man hd deny it 1’’ 

« Why, my dear fellow!” 

Don’t be dearing me. Is it no you’ll be saying to me ? Listen 
now: there’s O’Reilly there.” Where is he?” He’s under 

the table ! well, it’s the same thing. His mother had a fox : 

bad luck to you, don’t scald me with the jug ! his mother had a 
fox-cover in Shinrohan.” 

When O’Shaiighnessy had got thus far in his narrative, I had 
the opportunity of opening my note, which merely contained the 
following words : — “ Come to the ball at the Casino, and bring the 
cadeau you promised me.” 

I had scarcely read this over once, when a roar of laughter at 
something said, attracted my attention. I looked up and perceived 
Trevyllian’s eyes bent upon me with the fierceness of a tiger : the 
veins of his forehead were swollen and distorted, and the whole 
expression of his face betokened rage and passion. Resolved’ no 
longer to submit to such evident determination to insult, I was 
rising from my place at table, when, as if anticipating my inten- 
tion, he pushed back his chair, and left the room. Fearful of 
attracting attention by immediately following him, I affected to 
join in the conversation around me, while my temples throbbed, 
and my hands tingled with impatience to get away. 

“ Poor McManus,” said O’Shaughnessy, ‘‘rest his soul, he’d have 
puzzled the bench of bishops for hard words : upon my conscience 
I believe he spent his mornings looking for them in the Old Testa- 
ment : sure ye might have heard what happened to him ; at Bana- 
gher, when he commanded the Kilkennys — ye never heard the 
story; well then, ye shall : push the sherry along first though — old 
Monsoon there always keeps it lingering beside his left arm !” 

“ Well, when Peter was lieutenant-colonel of the Kilkennys — 
who, I may remark, e7i passant, as the French say, were the 
seediest-looking devils in the whole service ; he never let them 
alon^ from morning till night, drilling, and pipe-claying, and polish- 
ing them up ! Nothing will make soldiers of you, said Peter ; but, 
by the rock of Cashel, I’ll keep you as clean as a new musket ! 
Now, poor Peter himself was not a very warlike figure ; he mea- 
sured five feet one in his tallest boots: but certainly, if nature 
denied him length of stature, she compensated for it* in another 
way, by giving him a taste for the longest words in the language ! 
An extra syllable or so in a word, was always a strong recom- 
mendation ; and, whenever he could not find one to his mind, he’d 
take some quaint, outlandish one, that more than once' led to very 
awkward results. Well, the regiment was one day drawn up for 
parade in the town of Banagher, and, as M‘Manus came down the 
lines, he stopped opposite one of the men, whose face, hands, and 
accoutrements exhibited a most wofiil contempt of his orders. The 
fellow looked more like a turf-stack than a light-company man I 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


251 


‘ Stand out, sir,^ cried McManus, in a boiling passion. ‘ Sergeant 
O’Toole, inspect this individual.’ Now the sergeant was rather a 
favourite with Mac; for he always pretended to understand his 
phraseology, and, in consequence, was pronounced by the colonel 
a very superior man for his station in life. ^ Sergeant,’ said he, 
^ we shall make an exemplary illustration of our system here !’ 

^ Yes, sir,’ said the sergeant, sorely puzzled at the meaning of 
what he spoke ! 

^ Bear him to the Shannon, and lave him there :’ this he said 
in a kind of Coriolanus tone, with a toss up of his head, and a 
wave of his right arm ; signs, whenever he made them, incontest- 
ably showing that further parley was out of the question, and that 
he had summed up, and charged the jury for good and all. 

‘ Lave him in the river ?’ said O’Toole, his eyes starting from 
the sockets, and his whole face working in strong anxiety ; ^ is it 
lave him in the river, yer honour means ?’ 

‘ I have spoken,’ said the little man, bending an ominous frown 
upon the sergeant ; which, whatever construction he might have 
put upon his words, there was no mistaking. 

^ Well, well av it’s God’s will he’s drowned, it will not be on 
my head,’ says O’Toole, as he marched the fellow away between 
two rank and file. 

“ The parade was nearly over when Mac happened to see the 
sergeant coming up, all splashed with water, and looking quite 
tired. 

“ ^ Have you obeyed my orders ?’ said he. 

^ Yes, yer honour ; and tough work we had of it, for he strug- 
gled hard ?’ 

^ And where is he now ?’ 

^ Oh, troth he’s there safe ! divil a fear he’ll get out !’ 

Where ?’ said Mac. 

‘ In the river, yer honour.’ 

“ ‘ What have you done, you scoundrel.?’ 

‘‘ ‘ Didn’t I do as you bid me ?’ says he ; ^ didn’t I throw him in, 
and lave [leave] him there ?’ And faith so they did, and if he 
wasn’t a good swimmer, and got over to Moystown, there’s little 
doubt but he’d have been drowned, and all becapse Peter 
McManus could not express himself like a Christian.” 

In the laughter which followed O’Shaughnessy’s story, I took 
the opportunity of making my escape from the party, and succeed- 
ed in gaining the street unobserved. Though the note I had just 
read was not signed, I had no doubt from whom it came: so I 
hastened at once to my quarters, to make search for the lock of Joe 
Howard’s hair, to which the Senhora alluded. What was my 
mortification, however, to discover, that no such thing could be 
found anywhere ! I searched all my drawers ; I tossed about my 
papers and letters ; I hunted every likely, every unlikely spot I 
could think of, but in vain ; now cursing my carelessness for having 


252 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


lost it ; now swearing most solemnly to myself that I never could 
have received it. What was to be done ? it was already late ; my 
only thought was how to replace it. If I only knew the colour, any 
other lock of hair would, doubtless, do just as well. The chances 
were, as Howard was young, and an Englishman, that his hair 
was light ; light brown probably : something like my own. Of 
course it was ! why didn’t that thought occur to me before. ? how 
stupid I was ! So saying, 1 seized a pair of scissars and cut a long 
lock beside my temple : this, in a calm moment, I might have he- 
sitated about. Yes, thought I, she’ll never discover the cheat ; 
and besides, I do feel — I know not exactly why — rather gratified to 
think that I shall have left this souvenir behind me, even though it 
call up other recollections than of me. So thinking, I wrapped 
my cloak about me, and hastened towards the Casino. 


CHAPTER XLI, 

THE ROUTE. 

I HAD scarcely gone a hundred yards from my quarters, when 
the great tramp of horses’ feet attracted my attention. I stopped 
to listen, and soon heard the jingle of dragoon accoutrements, as 
the noise came nearer. The night was dark, but perfectly still ; 
and before I stood many minutes, I heard the tones of a voice, 
which I well knew could belong to but one, and that, Fred Power. 

Fred Power,” said I, shouting at the same time at the top of 
my voice, “ Power.” 

Ah, Charley, that you ? come along to the adjutant-general’s 
quarters. I’m charged with some important despatches, and can’t 
stop till I’ve delivered them. Come along, I’ve glorious news for 
you !” So saying, he dashed spurs to his horse, and, followed by 
ten mounted dragoons, galloped past. Power’s few and hurried 
words had so excited my curiosity, that I turned at once to follow 
him, questioning myself as I walked along, to what he could possibly 
allude. He knew of my attachment to Lucy Dashwood — could 
he mean any thing of her ? but what could I expect there ? by what 
flattery could I picture to myself any chance of success in that 
quarter ? and yet, what other news could I care for or value, than 
what bore upon her fate upon whom my own depended. Thus 
ruminating, I reached the door of the spacious building in which 
the adjutant-general had taken up his abode, and soon found my- 
self among a crowd of persons whom the rumour of some import- 
ant event had assembled there, though no one could tell what had 
occurred. Before many minutes the door opened, and Power 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


253 


came out bowing hurriedly to a few, and, whispering a word or 
two as he passed down the steps, he seized me by the arm and led 
me across the street. ‘‘ Charley,” said he, “ the curtain’s rising ; 
the piece is about to begin: a new commander-in-chief is sent 
out. Sir Arthur Wellesley, my boy, the finest fellow in England, is 
to head us on, and we march to-morrow. There’s news for you !” 
A raw boy, unread, uninformed as I was, I knew but little of his 
career whose name had even then shed such lustre upon our army ; 
but the buoyant tone of Power as he spoke, the kindling energy 
of his voice aroused me, and I felt every inch a soldier. As I 
grasped his hand in delightful enthusiasm, I lost all memory of my 
disappointment, and, in the beating throb that shook my head, I 
felt how deeply slept the ardour of military glory that first led me 
from my home to see a battle-field. 

There goes the news !” said Frederick, pointing as he spoke 
to a rocket that shot up into the sky, and, as it broke into ten 
thousand stars, illuminated the broad stream where the ships of 
war lay darkly resting : in another moment, the whole air shone 
with similar fires, while the deep roll of the drum sounded along 
the silent streets, and the city, so lately sunk in sleep, became, as 
if by magic, thronged with crowds of people ; the sharp clang 
of the cavalry trumpet blended with the gay carol of the light- 
infantry bugle, and the heavy tramp of the march was heard in 
the distance. All was excitement, all bustle ; but in the joyous 
tone of every voice, was spoken the longing anxiety to meet the 
enemy : the gay reckless tone of an Irish song would occasionally 
reach us, as some Connaught ranger, or some seventy-eight man 
passed, his knapsack on his back : or the low monotonous pibroch 
of the highlander, swelling into a war-cry, as some kilted corps 
drew up their ranks together. We turned to regain our quarters, 
when, at the corner of a street, we came suddenly upon a merry 
party, seated around a table, before a little inn ; a large street 
lamp, unhung for the occasion, had been placed in the midst of 
them, and showed us the figures of several soldiers in undress at 
the end, and, raised a little above his compeers, sat one, whom, by 
the unfair proportion he assumed of the conversation, not less than 
by the musical intonation of his voice, I soon recognised as my 
man, Mickey Free. 

I’ll be hanged, if that’s not your fellow there, Charley,” said 
Power, as he came to a dead stop a few yards off. 

“ What an impertinent varlet he is : only to think of him there, 
presiding among a set of fellows that have fought all the battles 
in the peninsular war. At this moment. I’ll be hanged, if he is 
not going to sing.” 

Here a tremendous thumping upon the table announced the fact, 
and, after a few preliminary observations from Mike, illustrative 
of his respect to the service, in which he had so often distinguished 

Y 


254 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


himself, he began to the air of the ‘‘Young May Moon,’^ a ditty, 
of which I only recollect the following verses : — 

“the young may moon. 

“ The picquets are fast retreating, boys ; 

The last tattoo is beating, boys ; 

So let every man 
Finish his can. 

And drink to our next merry meeting, boys ! 

The colonel so gayly prancing, boys ! 

Has a wonderful trick of advancing, boys ! 

When he sings out so large, 

‘ Fix bayonets and charge,*’ 

He sets all the Frenchmen a*dancing, boys! 

Let Mounseer look ever so big, my boys, 

Who cares for fighting a fig, boys ; 

When we play Garryowen, 

He’d rather go home : 

For somehow, he’s no taste for a jig, my boys !” 

This admirable lyric seemed to have a perfect success, if one 
were only to judge from the thundering of voices, hands, and 
drinking vessels, which followed ; while a venerable gray-haired 
sergeant rose to propose Mr. Free’s health, and speedy promotion 
to him. 

We stood for several minutes in admiration of the party ; when 
the loud roll of the drums beating to arms awakened us to the 
thought that our moments were numbered. 

“ Good night, Charley !” said Power, as he shook my hand 
warmly ; “ good night ! It will be your last night under a 
curtain for some months to come : make the most of it. 
Adieu !” 

So saying, we parted : he to his quarters, and I to all the con- 
fusion of my baggage, which lay in most admired disorder about 
my room. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


255 


CHAPTER XLII. 

THE FAREWELL. 

The preparations for the march occupied me till near morning ; 
and, indeed, had I been disposed to sleep, the din and clamour of 
the world without would have totally prevented it. Before day- 
break the advance guard was already in motion, and some squad- 
rons of heavy cavalry had begun their march. 

I looked aroqnd my now dismantled room as one does usually 
for the last time ere leaving, and bethought me if I had not forgot- 
ten any thing. Apparently all was remembered : but stay — what 
is this? To be sure, how forgetful I had become ! It was the 
packet I had destined for Donna Inez, and which, in the confusion 
of the night before, I had omitted to bring to the Casino. 

I immediately despatched Mike to the commissary, with my 
luggage, and orders to ascertain when we were expected to march. 
He soon returned, with the intelligence that our corps was not to 
move before noon ; so that I had yet some hours to spare and make 
my adieux to the Senhora. 

I cannot exactly explain the reason, but I certainly did bestow 
a more than common attention upon my toilette that morning. 
The Senhora was nothing to me. It is true, she had, as she lately 
most candidly informed me, a score ,of admirers, among which I 
was not even reckoned : she was evidently a coquette, whose 
greatest pleasure was to sport and amuse herself with the passions 
she excited in others. And even if she were not, — if her heart 
were to be won to-morrow, what claim — what right had I to seek 
it ? My affections were already pledged ; promised, it is true, to 
one who gave nothing in return, and who, perhaps, even loved 
another. Ah ! there was the rub : that one confounded suspicion, 
lurking in the rear, chilled my courage and piqued my spirit. 

If there be any thing more disheartening to an Irishman, in his 
little affaires du cceur, than another, it is the sense of rivalry. The 
obstinacy of fathers, the ill-will of mothers, the coldness, the indif- 
ference of the lovely object herself, — obstacles though they be, — 
he has tact, spirit, and perseverance to overcome them; but, when 
a more successful candidate for the fair presents himself ; when the 
eye that remains downcast at his suit, lights up with animation at 
another’s coming ; when the features, whose cold and chilling apa- 
thy to him have blended in one smile of welcome to another, — it 
IS all up with him : he sees the game lost, and throws his cards 
upon the table. And yet, why is this ? why is it that he, whose 


256 


CHARLES O^MALLEY, 


birth-right it would seem to be sanguine when others despond,— 
to be confident when all else are hopeless, — should find his courage 
fail him here ? The reason is, simply — but, in good sooth, I am 
ashamed to confess it ! 

Having jogged on so far with my reader, in all the sober serious- 
ness which the matter-of-fact material of these memoirs demands, 
I fear lest a seeming paradox may cause me to lose my good name 
for veracity ; and that, while merely maintaining a national trait 
of my country, I may appear to be asserting some unheard-of and 
absurd proposition ; so far have mere vulgar prejudices gone to 
sap our character as a people. 

The reason, then, is this, — for I have gone too far to retreat, — 
the Irishman is essentially bashful. Well, laugh if you wish ; for 
I conclude that, by this time, you have given way to a most im- 
moderate excess of risibility : but still, when you have perfectly 
recovered your composure, I beg to repeat, — the Irishman is essen- 
tially a bashful man ! 

Do not, for a moment, fancy that I would by this imply that, in 
any new or unexpected situation, — that from any unforeseen con- 
juncture of events, — the Irishman would feel confused or abashed, 
more than any other : far from it. The cold and habitual reserve 
of the Englishman, the studied caution of the North Tweeder him- 
self, would exhibit far stronger evidences of awkwardness in such 
circumstances as these. But, on the other hand, when measuring 
his capacity, his means of success, his probabilities of being pre- 
ferred, with those of the natives of any other country, I back the 
Irishman against the world for distrust of his own powers, for an 
under estimate of his real merits: in one word, for his bashfulness. 
Look at Daniel O’Connell ! look at Spring Rice ! look at Remmy 
Sheehan ! But I promised faithfully never to meddle with living 
celebrities ; besides that, I am really forgetting myself in the digres- 
sion. Let us return to Donna Inez. 

As I rode up to the Villa, I found the family assembled at break- 
fast. Several officers were also present, among whom I was not 
sorry to recognise my friend Monsoon. 

Ah, Charley !” cried he, as I seated myself beside him , “ what 
a pity all our fun is so soon to have an end ! Here’s this con- 
founded Soult won’t be quiet and peaceable ; but he must march 
upon Oporto, and heaven knows where besides, just as we were really 
beginning to enjoy life. I had got such a contract for blankets ! 
and now they’ve ordered me to join Beresford’s corps in the moun- 
tains: and you,” — ^here he dropped his voice, — ‘‘and you were 
getting on so devilish well in this quarter : upon my life, I think 
you’d have carried the day : old Don Emanuel, you know he’s 
a friend of mine, he likes you very much. And then, there’s 
Sparks ” 

“ Ay, Major, what of him? I have not seen him for some days.” 

“ Why, they’ve been frightening the poor devil out of his life. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


257 


O’Shaughnessy and a set of them — ^they tried him by court-martial 
yesterday, and sentenced him to mount guard with a wooden 
sword and a shooting jacket, which he did. Old Colbourne, it 
seems, saw him ; and, faith, there would be the devil to pay if the 
route had not come. Some of them would certainly have got a 
long leave to see their friends.” 

“ Why is not the Senhora here. Major ? I don’t see her at 
table.” 

A cold; a sore throat; a wet feet affair of last night, I believe. 
Pass that cold pie down here. Sherry, if you please. You didn’t 
see Power to-day?” 

No : we parted late last night ; I have not been to bed.” 

Very bad preparation for a march: take some burnt brandy in 
your cofee.” 

^^Then you don’t think the Senhora will appear ?” 

“ Very unlikely; but, stay, you know her room; the small draw- 
ing-room that looks out upon the flower-garden ; she usually 
passes the morning there. Leap the little wooden paling round 
the corner, and the chances are ten to one you find her.” 

I saw from the occupied air of Don Antonio that there was 
little fear of interruption on his part ; so, taking an early moment 
to escape unobserved, I rose and left the room. When I sprung 
over the oak fence, I found myself in a delicious little garden, 
where roses, grown to a height never seen in our colder climate, 
formed a deep bower of rich blossom. 

The Major was right ; the Senhora was in the room, and in one 
moment I was beside her. 

“Nothing but my fears of not bidding you farewell, could pal- 
liate my thus intruding, Donna Inez; but as we are ordered 
away ” 

“ When? not so soon, surely !” 

“ Even so ; to-day, this very hour ; but you see that, even in 
the hurry of departure, I have not forgotten my trust ; this is the 
packet I promised you.” 

So saying, I placed the paper with the lock of hair within her 
hand, and, bending downwards, pressed my lips upon her taper 
fingers. She hurriedly snatched her hand away, and, tearing open 
the enclosure, took out the lock. She looked steadily for a mo- 
ment at it, then at me, and again at it, and, at length, bursting 
into a fit of laughing, threw herself upon a chair in a very ecstasy 
of mirth. 

“Why, you don’t mean to impose this auburn ringlet upon me 
for one of poor Howard’s jetty curls. What downright folly to 
think of it ! and then, with how little taste the deception was 
practised : upon your very temples, too. One comfort is, you are 
utterly spoiled by it.” 

Here she again relapsed into a fit of laughter leaving me per- 
fectly puzzled what to think of her, as she resumed 

33 Y 2 


258 


CHARLES O^MALLEY, 


Well, tell me now, am I to reckon this as a pledge of your 
own allegiance, or am I still to believe it to be Edward Howard’s? 
Speak, and truly.” 

Of my own, most certainly,” said I, if it will be accepted.” 

« Why, after such treachery, perhaps it ought not ; but, still, as 
you have already done yourself such injury, and look so very silly 
withal ” 

“ That you are even resolved to give me cause to look more 
so,” added I. 

“Exactly,” said she; “for here, now, I reinstate you among 
my true and faithful admirers. Kneel down, sir knight, in token 
of which you will wear this scarf ” 

A sudden start which the donna gave at these words, brought 
me to my feet. She was pale as death and trembling. 

“ What means this ?” said I. “ What has happened ?” 

She pointed with her finger towards the garden ; but, though 
her lips moved, no voice came forth. I sprung through the open 
window. I rushed into the copse, the only one which might af- 
ford concealment for a figure, but no one was there. After a few 
minutes’ vain endeavour to discover any trace of an intruder, I 
returned to the chamber. The donna was there still; but how 
changed 1 her gayety and animation were gone, her pale cheek 
and trembling lip bespoke fear and suffering, and her cold hand 
lay heavily beside her. 

“ I thought — perhaps it was merely fancy — ^but I thought I saw 
Trevyllian beside the window.” 

“ Impossible,” said I. “ I have searched every walk and alley. 
It was nothing but imagination — believe me, no more. There, be 
assured; think no more of it.” 

While I endeavoured thus to reassure her, I was very far from 
feeling perfectly at ease myself; the whole bearing and conduct of 
this man had inspired me with a growing dislike of him, and I felt 
already half-convinced that he had established himself as a spy 
upon my actions. 

“ Then you really believe I was mistaken,” said the donna, as 
she placed her hand within mine. 

“ Of course I do ; but speak no more of it. You must not for- 
get how few my moments are here. Already I have heard the 
tramp of horses without ; ah ! there they are ; in a moment more 
I shall be missed ; so, once more, fairest Inez Nay, I beg par- 

don if I have dared to call you thus ; but think, if it be the first it 
may also be the last time I shall ever speak it.” 

Her head gently drooped as I said these words, till it sunk upon 
my shoulder, her long and heavy hair falling upon my neck and 
across my bosom. I felt her heart almost beat against my side ; I 
muttered some words, I know not what ; I felt them like a prayer ; 
I pressed her cold forehead to my lips ; rushed from the room ; 
■cleared the fence at a spring, and was far upon the road to Lisbon 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


259 


ere I could sufficiently collect my senses to know whither I was 
going. Of little else was I conscious : my mind was full to burst- 
ing, and, in the confusion of my excited brain, fiction and reality 
were so inextricably mingled as to defy every endeavour at dis- 
crimination. But little time had I for reflection : as I reached 
the city, the brigade to which I was attached was already under 
arms, and Mike impatiently waiting my arrival with the horses. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

THE MARCH. 

What a strange spectacle did the road to Oliviera present upon 
the morning of the 7th of May. A hurried or incautious observer 
might, at first sight, have pronounced the long line of troops which 
wended their way through the valley, as the remains of a broken 
and routed army, had not the ardent expression and bright eye 
that beamed on every side, assured him that men who looked thus 
could not be beaten ones. Horse, foot, baggage, artillery, dis- 
mounted dragoons, even the pale and scarcely recovered inhabitant 
of the hospital, might have been seen hurrying on ; for the order- 
forward — had been given at Lisbon, and those whose wounds did 
not permit their joining were more pitied for their loss than its 
cause. More than one officer was seen at the head of his troop 
with an arm in a sling, or a bandaged forehead ; while among the 
men, similar evidences of devotion were not unfrequent. As for 
me, long years and many reverses have not obliterated — scarcely 
blunted — the impression that sight made on me. The splendid 
spectacle of a review had often excited and delighted me ; but 
here, there was the glorious reality of war ; the bronzed faces, the 
worn uniforms, the well tattered flags, the roll of the heavy guns 
mingling with the wild pibroch of the highlander or scarcely less 
wild recklessness of the Irish quick step ; while the long line of 
cavalry, their helmets and accoutrements shining in the morning 
sun, brought back one’s boyish dreams of joust and tournament, 
and made the heart beat high with chivalrous enthusiasm. 

“Yes,” said I, half aloud, “this is indeed a realization of what 
I longed and thirsted for,” the clang of the music and the tramp 
of the cavalry responding to my throbbing pulses as we moved 
along. 

“ Close up there. Trot,” cried out a deep manly voice, and 
immediately a general officer rode by, followed by an aide-de- 
camp. 


260 


CHARLES O^MALLEY, 


There goes Cotton,” said Power. “ You may feel easy in your 
mind now, Charley ; there’s some work before us.” 

You have not heard our destination?” said I. 

“ Nothing is known for certain, yet. The report goes that Soult 
is advancing upon Oporto ; and the chances are. Sir Arthur intends 
to hasten us to its relief. Our fellows are at Ovar, with General 
Murray.” 

I say, Charley, old Monsoon is in a devil of a flurry ; he ex- 
pected to have been peaceably settled down in Lisbon for the next 
six months, and he has received orders to set out for Beresford’s 
head-quarters immediately ; and, from what I hear, they have no 
idle time.” 

“ Well, Sparks, how goes it, man ? Better fun this than the 
cook’s galley, eh?” 

« Why, do you know, these hurried movements put me out con- 
foundedly. I found Lisbon very interesting, the little I could see 
of it last night.” 

‘‘Ah! my dear fellow, think of the lovely Andalusian lasses, 
with their brown transparent skins and liquid eyes; why, you’d 
have been over head and ears in love in twenty-four hours more, 
had we stayed. 

“ Are they really so pretty ?” 

“ Pretty ! — downright lovely, man. Why they have a way of 
looking at you, over their fans— just one glance, short and fleeting, 

but so melting, by Jove Then their walk — if it be not profane 

to call that springing elastic gesture by such a name — why, it’s 
regular witchcraft. Sparks, my man, I tremble for you. Do you 
know,'by-the-bye, that same pace of theirs is a devilish hard thing 
to learn. I never could come it ; and yet, somehow, I was former- 
ly rather a crack fellow at a ballet. Old Alberto used to select me 
for a pas de zephyr among a host ; but there’s a kind of a hop, 
and a slide, and a spring : in fact, you must have been wearing 
petticoats for eighteen years, and have an Andalusian instep, and 
an India-rubber sole to your foot, or it’s no use trying it. How I 
used to make them laugh at the old San Josef convent, formerly, 
by my efforts in the cause.” 

“ Why, how did it ever occur to you to practise it ?” 

“ Many a man’s legs have saved his head, Charley, and I put it 
to mine to do a similar office for me.” 

“ True ; but I never heard of a man that performed a pas seal 
before the enemy.” 

“ Not exactly; but still you’re not very wide of the mark. If 
you’ll only wait till we reach Pontalegue, I’ll tell you the story ; 
not that it is worth the delay, but talking at this brisk pace I don’t 
admire.” 

“ You leave a detachment here. Captain Power,” said an aide- 
de-camp, riding hastily up, “ and General Cotton requests you will 
send a subaltern and two sergeants forward towards Berar, to re 


THE IKISH DRAGOON. 


261 


connoitre the pass. Francliesca’s cavalry are reported in that 
quarter so speaking, he dashed spurs to his horse, and was out 
of sight in an instant. ' 

Power, at the same moment, wheeled to the rear, from which he 
returned in an instant, accompanied by three well-mounted light 
dragoons. Sparks,’’ said he, “ now for an occasion of distinguish- 
ing yourself. You heard the order, lose no time, and, as your horse 
is an able one and fresh, lose not a second, but forward.” 

No sooner was Sparks despatched on what, it was evident, he 
felt to be any thing but a pleasant duty, than I turned towards 
Power and said, with some tinge of disappointment in the tone, 
“ Well, if you really felt there was any thing worth doing there — I 
flattered myself that” 

“ Speak out, man, — that I should have sent you ; eh, is it not 
so ?” 

Yes, you’ve hit it.” 

Well, Charley, my peace is easily made on this head: why, I 
selected Sparks, simply, to spare you one of the most unpleasant 
duties that can be imposed upon a man : a duty which, let him 
discharge it to the uttermost, will never be acknowledged, and the 
slightest failure in which will be remembered for many a day 
against him ; besides, the pleasant and very probable prospect of 
being selected as a bull’s eye for a French rifle, or carried off a 
prisoner ; eh, Charley ? there’s no glory, devil a ray of it. Come, 
come, old fellow, Fred Power’s not the man to keep his friend out 
of the mUeCy — if only any thing can be made by being in it. Poor 
Sparks, Pd swear, is as little satisfied with the arrangement as 
yourself, if one knew but all.” 

I say. Power,” said a tall dashing-looking man of about five- 
and-forty, with a Portuguese order in his breast ; “ I say. Power, 
dine with us at the halt.” 

With pleasure, if I may bring my young friend here.” 

“ Of course, pray introduce us.” 

“Major Hixley, Mr. O’Malley, — a 14th man, Hixley.” 

“ Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. O’Malley. Knew 
a famous fellow in Ireland of your name, a certain Godfrey 
O’Malley, member for some county or other.” 

“My uncle,” said I, blushing deeply with a pleasurable feeling, 
at even this slight praise of my oldest friend. 

“ Your uncle ! give me your hand. By Jove, his nephew has 
a right to good treatment at my hands ; he saved my life in the 
year ’98 ; and how is old Godfrey ?” 

“ Quite well when I left him some months ago ; a little gout 
now and then.” 

“ To be sure he has ; no man deserves it better ; but it’s a gentle- 
manlike gout^ that merely jogs his memory in the mprning of the 
good wine he has drank over night ; by-the-bye, what became of 


262 


CHARLES O^MALLEY, 


a friend of his, a devilish eccentric fellow, who held a command 
in the Austrian service 

“ Oh, Considine — the Count/^ 

The same.’’ 

As eccentric as ever, I left him on a visit with my uncle. And 
Boyle, did you know Sir Harry Boyle ?” 

“To be sure I did: shall I ever forget him and his capital 
blunders, that kept me laughing the whole time I spent in Ire- 
land ? I was in the house when he concluded a panegyric upon 
a friend, by calling him ‘ the father to the poor, and uncle to Lord 
Donoughmore.’ ” 

“ He was the only man who could render by a bull what it was 
impossible to convey more correctly,” said Power : “you’ve heard 
of his duel with Harry Toler ?” 

“ Never : let’s hear it.” 

“It was a bull from beginning to end. Boyle took it into 
his head that Harry was a person with whom he had a 
serious row in Cork. Harry, on the other hand, mistook 
Boyle for old Caples, whom he had been pursuing with 
horse-whipping intentions for some months; they met in Kil- 
dare-street Club, and very little colloquy satisfied them that 
they were right in their conjectures ; each party being so 
eagerly ready to meet the views of the other. It never was 
a difficult matter to find a friend in Dublin ; and to do 
them justice, Irish seconds, generally speaking, are perfectly 
free from any imputation upon the score of good-breeding. 
No men have less impertinent curiosity as to the cause of 
the quarrel: wisely supposing that the principals know their 
own affairs best, they cautiously abstain from indulging any 
prying spirit, but proceed to discharge their functions as best 
they may. Accordingly, Sir Harry and Dick were set, as the 
phrase is, at twelve paces, and to use Boyle’s own words, 
for I have heard him relate the story — 

“ ^ We blazed away, sir, for three rounds. I put two in his hat, 
and one in his neckcloth ; his shots went all through the skirt of 
my coat.’ 

“‘We’ll spend the day here,’ says Considine, ‘at this rate: 
couldn’t you put them closer ?’ 

“‘And give us a little more time in the word,’ says I. 

“‘Exactly,’ said Dick. 

“‘Well, they moved us forward two paces, and set to loading 
the pistols again.’ 

“‘By this time we were so near that we had full opportunity 
to scan each other’s faces; well, sir, I stared at him, and he 
at me.’ 

“‘What !’ said I. 

“‘Eh !’ said he. 

“ ‘How’s this?’ said I. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


263 


“‘You’re not Billy Caples/ said he. 

“‘Devil a bit,’ said I, ‘nor I don’t think you’re Archy 
Devine, and, faith, sir, so it appeared, we were fighting away 
all the morning for nothing ; for somehow it turned out it was 
neither of us.^ ” 

What amused me most in this anecdote was the hearing 
it at such a time and place ; that poor Sir Harry’s eccen- 
tricities should turn up for discussion on a march in Portugal, 
was singular enough; but, after all, life is full of such in- 
congruous accidents. I remember once supping with King 
Calzoo on the Blue Mountains in Jamaica. By way of enter- 
taining his guests, some English officers, he ordered one of 
his suite to sing. We were of course pleased at the oppor- 
tunity of hearing an Indian war-chant, with a skull and thigh 
bone accompaniment; but what was our astonishment to hear 
the Indian, — a ferocious looking dog, with an awful scalp 
lock, and two streaks of red paint across his chest — clear 
his voice well for a few seconds, and then begin, without 
discomposing a muscle of his gravity, ‘The Laird of Cock- 
pen,’ I need not say, that the ‘ Great Racoon’ was a Dum- 
fries man, who had quitted Scotland forty years before, and, 
with characteristic prosperity, had attained his present rank in 
a foreign service. 

“ Halt, halt !” cried a deep-toned manly voice in the lead- 
ing column, and the word was repeated from mouth to mouth 
to the rear. 

We dismounted, and picketing our horses beneath the broad- 
leaved foliage of the cork trees, stretched out at full length upon 
the grass, while our mess men prepared the dinner. Our party at 
first consisted of Hixley, Power, the Adjutant, and myself; but 
our number was soon increased by three officers of the 6th foot, 
about to join their regiment. 

“Barring the ladies, God bless them,” said Power, “there’s 
no such pic-nics as campaigning presents ; the charms of scenery 
are greatly enhanced by their coming unexpectedly on you. 
Your chance good fortune in the prog has an interest that no 
ham and cold chicken affair, prepared by your servants before- 
hand, and got ready with a degree of fuss and worry that converts 
the whole party into an assembly of cooks, can ever afford ; 
and, lastly, the excitement that this same life of our’s is never with- 
out, gives a zest ” 

“ There you’ve hit it,” cried Hixley : “ it’s that same feeling of 
uncertainty, that those who meet now, may ever do so again, full 
as it is of sorrowful reflection, that still teaches us, as we become 
inured to war, to economise our pleasures and be happy when we 
may Your health, O’Malley, and your uncle Godfrey’s too.” 

“ A little more of the pastry ” 

“What a capital guinea-fowl this is !” 


264 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


“ That’s some of old Monsoon’s own particular port.” 

Pass it round here ; really this is pleasant.” 

My blessing on the man who left that vista yonder ; see what 
a glorious valley stretches out there, undulating in its richness ; 
and look at those dark trees, where just one streak of. soft sunlight 
is kissing their tops, giving them one chaste good-night — ” 

Well done. Power.” 

Confound you, you’ve pulled me short, and I was about be- 
coming downright pastoral : a propos of kissing, I understand Sir 
Arthur won’t allow the convents to be occupied by troops.” 

And, h propos, of convents,” said I, let’s hear your story : you 
promised it, a while ago.” 

‘‘ My dear Charley, it’s far too early in the evening for a story. 
I should rather indulge my poetic fancies here, under the shade 
of melancholy boughs; and, besides, Pm not half screwed up 
yet !” 

“ Come, Adjutant,r let’s have a song.” 

Pll sing you a Portuguese serenade when the next bottle comes 
in. What capital port ! have you much of it ?” 

Only three dozen. We got it late last night; forged an order 
from the commanding officer, and sent it up to old Monsoon, — ‘ for 
hospital use.’ He gave it, with a tear in his eye ; saying, as 
the sergeant marched away, ‘ Only think of such wine for fellows 
that may be in the next world before morning ! It’s a downright 
sin.’ ” 

I say. Power, there’s something going on there.” 

At this instant the trumpet sounded ^‘boot and saddle;” and, 
like one man, the whole mass rose up ; when the scene, late so 
tranquil, became one of excited bustle and confusion. An aide-de- 
camp galloped past towards the river, followed by two orderly 
sergeants ; and the next moment Sparks galloped up ; his whole 
equipment giving evidence of a hurried ride, while his cheek Avas 
deadly pale and haggard. 

Power presented to him a goblet of sherry, which, having 
emptied at a draught, he drew a long breath, and said, — 

They are coming — coming in force.” 

‘^Who are coming?” said Power; “take time, man, collect 
yourself.” 

“ The French ! I saw them a devilish deal closer than I 
liked; they wounded one of the orderlies, and took the other 
prisoner.” 

“Forward !” cried out a hoarse voice in the front; “March — 
trot.” 

And before we could obtain any further information from 
Sparks, whose faculties seemed to have received a terrific shock, 
we were once more in the saddle, and moving at a brisk pace 
onward. 

Sparks had barely time to tell us that a large body of French 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


265 


cavalry occupied the pass of Berar, when he was sent for by Ge- 
neral Cotton to finish his report. 

How frightened the fellow is !’’ said Hixley. 

don’t think the worse of poor Sparks for all that,” said 
Power ; “ he saw those fellows for the first time, and no bird’s-eye 
view of them, either.” 

“ Then we are in for a skirmish, at least,” said I. 

It would appear not, from that,” said Hixley, pointing to the 
head of the column, which, leaving the high road upon the left, 
entered the forest by a deep cleft, that opened upon a valley tra- 
versed by a broad river. 

^^That looks very like taking up a position, though,” said 
Power. 

‘‘ Look ! look down yonder !” cried Hixley, pointing to a dip in 
the plain beside the river ; is not a cavalry picket there ?” 

Right, by Jove ! I say, Fitzroy,” said Power to an aide-de- 
camp as he passed, What’s going on ?” 

Soult has carried Oporto,” cried he ; “ and Franchesca’s ca- 
valry have escaped.” 

And who are these fellows in the valley ?” 

‘‘ Our own people coming up.” 

In less than half an hour’s brisk trotting we reached the stream, 
the banks of which were occupied by two cavalry regiments ad- 
vancing to the main army ; and what was my delight to find that 
one of them was our own corps, the 14th Light Dragoons. 

“ Hurra !” cried Power, waving his cap as he came up. ^HIow 
are you, Sedgewick ? Baker, my hearty, how goes it ? How is 
Hampton, and the Colonel ?” 

In an instant we were surrounded by our brother officers, who 
all shook me cordially by the hand, and welcomed me to the regi- 
ment with most gratifying warmth. 

One of us,” said Power, with a knowing look, as he introduced 
me ; and the free-masonry of these few words secured me a hearty 
greeting. 

Halt, halt ! Dismount !” sounded again from front to rear ; 
and, in a few minutes, we were once more stretched upon the 
grass, beneath the deep and mellow moonlight ; while the bright 
stream ran placidly beside us, reflecting, on its calm surface, the 
varied groups as they lounged or sat around the blazing fires of the 
bivouac. 


34 


Z 


266 


CHARLES o’MALLEr, 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

THE BIVOUAC. 

When I contrasted the gay and lively tone of the conversation 
which ran on around our bivouac fire, with the dry monotony and 
J)rosaic tediousness of my first military dinner at Cork, I felt how 
much the spirit and adventure of a soldier’s life can impart of chi- 
valrous enthusiasm to even the dullest and least susceptible. I saw 
even many who, under common circumstances, would have pos- 
sessed no interest, nor excited any curiosity, but now, connected as 
they were with the great events occurring around them, absolutely 
became heroes. And it was with a strange, wild throbbing of ex- 
citement I listened to the details of movements and marches, whose 
objects I knew not, but in which the magical words Corunna, 
Vimiera, were mixed up, and gave to the circumstances an interest 
of the highest character ; how proud, too, I felt, to be the com- 
panion in arms of such fellows ; here they sat, the tried and proved 
soldiers of a hundred fights, treating me as their brother and their 
equal. Who need wonder if I felt a sense of excited pleasure : 
had I needed such a stimulant, that night beneath the cork trees 
had been enough to arouse a passion for the army in my heart, and 
an irrepressible determination to seek for a soldier’s glory. 

‘‘Fourteenth !” called out a voice from the wood behind ; and, 
in a moment after, the aid-de-camp appeared with a mounted or- 
derly. 

“ Colonel Merivale,” said he, touching his cap to the stalwart 
soldier-like figure before him. 

The Colonel bowed. 

“ Sir Stapleton Cotton desires me to request that at an early hour 
to-morrow you will occupy the pass, and cover the march of the 
troops. It is his wish that all the reinforcements should arrive at 
Oporto by noon. I need scarcely add, that we expect to be en- 
gaged with the enemy.” 

These few words were spoken hurriedly, and again saluting our 
party, he turned his horse’s head and continued his way towards 
the rear. 

“ There’s news for you, Charley,” said Power, slapping me on 
the shoulder. “ Lucy Dashwood or Westminster Abbey !” 

“ The regiment was never in finer condition, that’s certain,” said 
the Colonel, “ and most eager for a brush with the enemy.” 

“ How your old friend the Count would have liked this work,’ 
said Hixley ; “ gallant fellow he was.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


267 


Come/’ cried Power, “ here’s a fresh bowl coming. Let’s 
drink the ladies, wherever they be : we, most of us, have some soft 
spot on that score.” 

Yes,” said the Adjutant, singing : — 

“ Here’s to the maiden of blushing fifteen, 

Here’s to the damsel that’s merry, 

Here’s to the flaunting extravagant quean ” 

And,” sang Power, interrupting, 

“ Here’s to the ‘ Widow of Derry.’ ” 

Come, come, Fred, no more quizzing on that score. It’s the 
only thing ever gives me a distaste to the service, is the souvenir 
of that adventure. When I reflect what I might have been, and 
think what I am ; when I contrast a Brussels carpet with ' wet 
grass, silk hangings with a canvass tent, Sneyd claret with ration 
brandy, and Sir Arthur for a commander-in-chief vice Boggs a 
widow.” 

Stop there,” cried Hixley, “ without disparaging the fair 
widow, there’s nothing beats campaigning after all : eh, Fred ?” 

‘‘ And to prove it,” said the Colonel, “ Power will sing us a 
song.” 

Power took his pencil from his pocket, and placing the back of 
a letter across his shako, commenced inditing his lyric ; saying, as 
he did so — 

“ I’m your man, in five minutes : just fill my glass, in the mean 
time.” 

“That fellow beats Dibdin hollow,” whispered the Adjutant. 
“ I’ll be hanged if he’ll not knock you off a song like lightning.” 

“ I understand,” said Hixley, “ they have some intention at the 
Horse Guards of having all the general orders set to popular tunes, 
and sung at every mess in the service. You’ve heard that, I sup- 
pose, Sparks ?” 

“ I confess I had not before.” 

“ It will certainly come very hard on the subalterns,” continued 
Hixley, with much gravity ; “ they’ll have to brush up their sol mi 
fas ; all the solos are to be their part.” 

“ What rhymes with slaughter ?” said Power. 

“ Brandy and water,” said the Adjutant. 

“ Now, then,” said Power, “ are you all ready ?” 

“ Ready.” 

“ You must chorus, mind ; and, mark me, take care you give the 
hip, hip, hurra, well ; as that’s the whole force of the chant. Take 
the time from me. Now for it. Air, ‘ Garryowen,’ with spirit, 
but not too quick. 

“Now that we’ve pledged each eye of blue, 

And every maiden fair and true. 

And our green island home — to you 
The ocean’s wave adorning. 


268 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


Let’s give one hip, hip, hip, hurra, 

And drink e’en to the coming day, 

When, squadron square, 

We’II all be there. 

To meet the French in the morning. 

“ May his bright laurels never fade, 

Who leads our fighting fifth brigade, 

Those lads so true in heart and blade, 

And famed for danger scorning ; 

So join me in one hip, hurra. 

And drink e’en to the coming day, 

When, squadron square. 

We’ll all be there. 

To meet the French in the morning. 

“ And when with years and honours crowned 
You sit some homeward hearth around. 

And hear no more the stirring sound. 

That spoke the trumpet’s warning. 

You’ll fill, and drink, one hip, hurra. 

And pledge the memory of the day. 

When, squadron square. 

They all were there. 

To meet the French in the morning.” 

Gloriously done, Fred cried Hixley. If 1 ever get my 
deserts in this world, Pll make you Laureate to the Forces, with 
a hogshead of your own native whisky for every victory of the 
army.’’ 

A devilish good chant,” said Merivale ; ‘^but the air surpasses 
any thing I ever heard : thoroughly Irish, I take it.” 

“ Irish ! upon my conscience, 1 believe you !” shouted O’Shaugh- 
nessy, with an energy of voice and manner that created a hearty 
laugh on all sides. “ It’s few people ever mistook it for a Venetian 
melody. Hand over the punch — the sherry, I mean. When I 
was in the Clare militia, we always went in to dinner to ^ Tatter 
Jack Walsh,’ a sweet air, and had ^ Garryowen’ for a quick step. 
Quid MacManus, when he got the regiment, wanted to change ; 
he said they were damned vulgar tunes, and wanted to have ‘ Rule 
Britannia,’ or the ‘ Hundredth Psalm ;’ but we would not stand 
it : there would have been a mutiny in the corps.” 

“ The same fellow, wasn’t he, that you told the story of, the 
other evening, in Lisbon ?” said I. 

‘^The same. Well, what a character he was! As pompous 
and conceited a little fellow as ever you met with : and, then, he 
was so bullied by his wife ; he always came down to revenge it 
on the regiment. She was a fine, showy, vulgar woman, with a 
most cherishing affection for all the good things in this life, except 
her husband, whom she certainly held in due contempt. Ye 
little crayture,’ she’d say to him with a sneer, ‘ it ill becomes you 
to drink and sing, and be making a man of yourself. If you were 
like O’Shaughnessy there, six feet three in his stockings.’ Well, 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


269 


well : it looks like boasting ; but no matter : here’s her health, 
anyway.” 

“ I knew you were tender in that quarter,” said Power. I 
heard it when quartered in Limerick.” 

Maybe you heard, too, how I paid off Mac, when he came 
down on a visit in this county ?” 

Never : let’s hear it now.” 

“Ay, O’Shaughnessy, now’s your time; the fire’s a good one, 
the night fine, and liquor plenty.” 

“ I’m CO }iv anient,^’ said O’Shaughnessy, as, depositing his enor- 
mous legs on each side of the burning fagots, and placing a bottle 
between his knees, he began his story : — 

“ It was a cold rainy night in January, in the year ’98, 1 took 
my place in the Limerick mail, to go down for a few days to the 
west country. As the waiter of the Hibernian came to the door 
with a lantern, I just caught a glimpse of the other insides ; none 
of whom were known to me, except Colonel MacManus, that I 
met once in a boarding-house in Molesworth-street. I did not, at 
the time, think him a very agreeable companion ; but, when morn- 
ing broke, and we began to pay our respects to each other in the 
coach, I leaned over, and said, ‘ I hope you’re well. Colonel Mac 
Manus,’ just by way of civility like. He didn’t hear me at first; 
so that I said it again, a little louder. 

“ I wish you saw the look he gave me : he drew himself up to 
the height of his cotton umbrella, put his chin inside his cravat, 
pursed up his dry shrivelled lips, and with a voice he meant to be 
awful, replied : — 

“ ^ You appear to have the advantage of me.’ 

“ ^ Upon my conscience, you’re right,’ said I, looking down at 
myself, and then over at him, at which the other travellers burst 
out a-laughing; M think there’s few who will dispute that point.’ 
When the laugh was over I resumed, for I was determined not to 
let him off so easily : ^ Sure I met you at Mrs. Cayle’s,’ said I ; 
‘ and, by the same token, — it was a Friday, I remember it well, — 
maybe you didn’t pitch into the salt cod ! I hope it didn’t disagree 
with you.’ 

“ ‘ I beg to repeat, sir, that you are under a mistake,’ said he. 

“ ‘ Maybe so, indeed,’ said I. ^ Maybe you’re not Colonel Mac 
Manus at all ; maybe you wasn’t in a passion for losing seven and 
sixpence at loo, with Mrs. Moriarty ; maybe you didn’t break the 
lamp in the hall with your umbrella, pretending you touched it 
with your head, and wasn’t within three foot of it ; maybe Coun- 
sellor Brady wasn’t going to put you in the box of the Foundling 
Hospital, if you wouldn’t behave quietly in the streets ’ 

“ Well, with this the others laughed so heartily, that I could not 
go on ; and the next stage the bold Colonel got outside with the 
guard, and never came in till we reached Limerick. I’ll never for- 
get his face, as he got down at Swinburne’s Hotel. ^ Good-bye, 

2 z 


270 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


Colonel,’ said I ; but he wouldn’t take the least notice of my po- 
liteness ; but, with a frown of utter defiance, he turned on his heel 
and walked away. 

‘ I havn’t done with you yet,’ said I ; and, faith, I kept my 
word. 

I hadn’t gone ten yards down the street, when I met my old 
friend Darby O’ Grady. 

^ Shaugh, my boy,’ says he, — he called me that way for short- 
ness, — ‘ dine with me to-day, at Mosey ’s : a green goose and goose- 
berries ; six to a minute.’ 

‘‘ ‘ Who have you ?’ says. I. 

‘ Tom Keane and the Wallers, a counsellor or two, and one 
MacManus from Dublin.’ 

‘‘ ‘ The Colonel .?’ 

‘ The same,’ said he. 

^I’m there, Darby!’ said I; ^‘but mind, you never saw me 
before.’ 

^ What !’ said he. 

“ ‘ You never set eyes on me before ; mind that’ 

‘ I understand,’ said Darby, with a wink ; and we parted. 

“ I certainly was never very particular about dressing for dinner, 
but on this day I spent a considerable time at my toilet ; and, when 
I looked in my glass at its completion, was well satisfied that I 
had done myself justice. A waistcoat of brown rabbit-skin with 
flaps, a red worsted comforter round my neck, an old grey shoot- 
ing-jacket, with a brown patch on the arm, corduroys and leather 
gaiters, with a tremendous oak cudgel in my hand, made me a 
most presentable figure for a dinner party. 

^ Shall I do. Darby?’ says I, as he came into my room before 
dinner. 

“ ^ If it’s for robbing the mail you are,’ says he, ‘ nothing could 
be better. Your father wouldn’t know you.’ 

“ ^ Would I be the better of a wig ?’ 

“ ^ Leave your hair alone,’ said he. ‘ It’s painting the lily to 
alter it.’ 

Well, God’s will be done,’ says I, ‘ so come, now.’ 

Well, just as the clock struck six I saw the Colonel come out 
of his room, in a suit of most accurate sable, stockings and 
pumps. Down stairs he went, and I heard the waiter announce 
him. 

^ Now’s my time,’ thought I, as I followed slowly after. 

When I reached the door I heard several voices within, among 
which I recognised some ladies. Darby had not told me about 
them : ^ but no matter,’ said I ; ‘ it’s all as well ;’ so I gave a gentle 
tap at the door with my knuckles. 

^ Come in,’ said Darby. 

I opened the door, slowly, and putting in only my head and 
shoulders, took a cautious look round the room. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


271 


‘ I beg pardon, gentlemen,’ said I, < but I was only looking for 
one Colonel MacManus, and, as he is not here’ 

‘‘ ^ Pray walk in, sir,’ said O’ Grady, with a polite bow. ‘ Colo- 
nel MacManus is here. There’s no intrusion whatever. I say. 

Colonel,’ said he, turning round, ‘ a gentleman here desires to ’ 

^ Never mind it now,’ said I, as I stepped cautiously into the 
room ; ‘ he’s going to dinner, another time will do just as well.’ 

“ ‘ Pray come in.’ 

“ ‘ I could not think of intruding ’ 

‘ I must protest,’ said MacManus, colouring up, ^ that I cannot 
understand this gentleman’s visit.’ 

“ Mt is a little affair I have to settle with him,’ said I, with a 
fierce look, that 1 saw produced its effect. 

“ ^ Then perhaps you would do me the very great favour to 
join him at dinner,’ said O’ Grady. ‘Any friend of Colonel Mac- 
Manus ’ 

“ ‘ You are really too good,’ said I ; ‘ but, as an utter stranger ’ 

“ ‘ Never think of that for a moment. My friend’s friend, as the 
adage says.’ 

“ ‘ Upon my conscience, a good saying,’ said I, ‘ but you see 
there’s another difficulty. Fve ordered a chop and potatoes up 
in No. 5.’ 

“ ‘ Let that be no obstacle,’ said O’Grady. ‘ The waiter shall 
put it in my bill ; if you will only do me the pleasure.’ 

“ ‘ You’re a trump,’ said I. ‘ What’s your name ?’ 

“ ‘ O’Grady, at your service.’ 

“ ‘ Any relation of the counsellor,’ said 1. ‘ They’re all one 

family, the O’Gradies. I’m Mr. O’Shaughnessy, from Ennis; 
won’t you introduce me to the ladies ?’ 

“ While the ceremony of presentation was going on, I caught 
one glance at MacManus, and had hard work not to roar out 
laughing. Such an expression of surprise, amazement, indigna- 
tion, rage, and misery, never was mixed up in one face before. 
Speak he could not ; and I saw that, except for myself, he had 
neither eyes, ears, nor senses for any thing around him. Just at 
this moment dinner was announced, and in we went. I never was 
in such spirits in my life : the trick upon MacManus had succeeded 
perfectly: he believed in his heart that I had never met O’Grady 
in my life before, and that, upon the faith of our friendship, I had 
received my invitation. As for me, I spared him but little. I kept 
up a running fire of droll stories ; had the ladies in fits of laugh- 
ing ; made everlasting allusions to the colonel ; and, in a word, 
ere the soup had disappeared, except himself, the company were 
entirely with me. 

“‘O’Grady,’ said I, ‘forgive the freedom, but I feel as if we 
were old acquaintances.’ 

“ ‘ As Colonel MacManus’s friend,’ said he, ‘ you can take no 
liberty here which is not perfectly welcome.’ 


'^72 


CHARLES 0 MALLEY, 


Just what I expected/ said 1. ‘Mac and 1/ — I wish you 
saw his face when I called him Mac, — ‘ Mac and I were school- 
fellows five-and-thirty years ago ; though he forgets me, I don’t 
forget him : to be sure it would be hard for me. I’m just thinking 
of the day Bishop Oulaham came over to visit the college. Mac 
was coming in at the door of the refectory as the bishop was going 
out. ‘ Take off your caubeen, you young scoundrel, and kneel 
down for his reverence to bless you,’ said one of the masters, giv- 
ing his hat a blow at the same moment that sent 'it flying to the 
other end of the room, and, with it, about twenty ripe pears that 
Mac had just stolen in the orchard, and had in his hat. I wish 
you only saw the bishop ; and Mac himself, he was a picture. 
Well, well, you forget it all now, but I remember as if it was only 
yesterday. Any champagne, Mr. O’Grady, I’m mighty dry ?’ 

“ ‘ Of course,’ said Darby. ‘ Waiter, some champagne here.’ 

“ ‘Ah, it’s himself was the boy for every kind of fun and devil- 
ment, quiet and demure as he looks over there. Mac, your health. 
It’s not every day of the week we get champagne.’ 

“ He laid down his knife and fork as I said this : his face 
and temples grew deep purple, his eyes started as if they would 
spring from his head, and he put both his hands to his forehead, as 
if trying to assure himself that it was not some horrid dream. 

“ ‘A little slice more of the turkey,’ said I, ‘ and then, O’Grady, 
I’ll try your hock. It’s wine I’m mighty fond of, and so is Mac 
there. 6 ! it’s seldom, to tell you the truth, it troubles us. There, 
fill up the glass ; that’s it. Here now. Darby — that’s your name, 
I think — ^you’ll not think I’m taking a liberty in giving a toast : 
here, then. I’ll give MacManus’s health, with all the honours; 
though it’s early yet, to be sure, but we’ll do it again, by-aiid-by, 
when the whisky comes. Here’s MacManus’s good health ; and, 
though his wife, they say, does not treat him well, and keeps him 
down ’ 

“ The roar of laughing that interrupted me here, was produced 
by the expression of poor Mac’s face. He had started up from 
table, and, leaning with both his hands upon it, stared round upon 
the company like a maniac — his mouth and eyes wide open, and his 
hair actually bristling with amazement. Thus he remaJned for a 
full minute, gasping like a fish in a landing-net. It seemed a hard 
struggle for him to believe he was not deranged. At last his eyes 
fell upon me ; he uttered a deep groan, and, with a voice tremulous 
with rage, thundered out : — 

“ ‘ The scoundrel ! I never saw him before.’ 

“ He rushed from the room, and gained the street. Before our 
roar of laughter was over he had secured post-horses, and was gal- 
loping towards Ennis at the top speed of his cattle. 

“ He exchanged once into the line ; but they say that he caught 
a glimpse of my name in the army list, and sold out the next 
morning ; be that as it may, we never met since.” 


THE IRISH DRAdOON. 


273 


I have related O’Shaughnes^y’s story here, rather from the me- 
mory I have of how we all laughed at it at the time, than from 
any feeling as to its real desert ; but, when I think of the voice, 
look, accent, 'and gesture of the narrator, I can scarcely keep my- 
self from again giving way to laughter. 


CHAPTER XLV. 

THE DOURO. 

Never did the morning break more beautifully than on the 
12th of May, 1809. Huge masses of fog-like vapour had suc- 
ceeded to the starry cloudless night, but, one by one, they moved 
onward towards the sea, disclosing, as they passed, long tracts of 
lovely country, bathed in a rich golden glow. The broad Douro, 
with its transparent current, shone out like a bright-coloured ri- 
band, meandering through "the deep garment of fairest green; the 
darkly shadowed mountains, which closed the background, loom- 
ed even larger than they were ; while their summits were tipped 
with the yellow glory of the morning. The air was calm and still, 
and the very smoke that arose from the peasant’s cot, laboured as 
it ascended through the perfumed air, and, save the ripple of the 
stream, all was silent as the grave. 

The squadrons of the 14th, with which I was, had diverged 
from the road beside the river, and, to obtain a shorter path, had 
entered the skirts of a dark pine wood : our pace was a sharp 
one ; an orderly had been , already despatched to hasten our arri- 
val, and we pressed on at a brisk trot. In less than an hour we 
reached the verge of the wood, and, as we rode out upon the 
plain, what a spectacle met our eyes ! Before us, in a narrow 
valley, separated from the river by a narrow ridge, were picketed 
three cavalry regiments ; their noiseless gestures and perfect still- 
ness bespeaking at once, that they were intended for a surprise 
party. Farther down the stream, and upon the opposite side, 
rose the massive towers and tall spires of Oporto, displaying from 
their summits the broad ensign of France ; while, far as the eye 
could reach, the broad dark masses of troops might be seen ; the 
intervals between their columns glittering with the bright equip- 
ments of their cavalry, whose steel caps and lances were sparkling 
in the sunbeams. The bivouac fires were still smouldering, and 
marking where some part of the army had passed the night ; for, 
early as it was, it was evident that their position had been 
changed; and, even now, the heavy masses of dark infantry 
might be seen moving from place to place, while the long line of 
the road to Vallonga was marked with a vast cloud of dust. The 
35 


274 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


French drum and the light infantry bugle told, from time to time, 
that orders were passing among the troops ; while the glittering 
uniform of a staff officer, as he galloped from the town, bespoke 
the note of preparation, 

“Dismount. Steady: quietly, my lads,’’ said the Colonel, as 
hq alighted upon the grass. “ Let the men have their breakfast.” 

The little amphitheatre we occupied, hid us entirely from all 
observation on the part of the enemy, but equally so excluded us 
from perceiving their movements. It. may readily be supposed, 
then, with what impatience we waited here, while the din and 
clangour of the French force, as they marched and counter- 
marched so near us, were clearly audible. The orders were, 
however, strict that none should approach the bank of the river, 
and we lay anxiously awaiting the moment when this inactivity 
should cease. More than one orderly had arrived among us, 
bearing despatches from head-quarters : but where our main body 
was, or what the nature of the orders, no one could guess. As for 
me, my excitement was at its height, and I could not speak for 
the very tension of my nerves. The officers stood in little groups 
of two and three, whispering anxiously together; but all I could 
collect was, that Soult had already began his retreat upon Ama- 
rante, and that, with the broad stream of the Douro between us, 
he defied our pursuit. 

“ Well, Charley,” said Power, laying his arm upon my shoul- 
der, “ the French have given us the slip this time ; they are 
already in march, and, even if we dared force a passage, in the 
face of such an enemy, it seems there is not a boat to be found 
I have just seen Hammersly.” 

“ Indeed ! Where is he ?” said I. 

“ He’s gone back to Ville de Conde ; he asked after you most 
particularly ; don’t blush, man : I’d rather back your chance than 
his, notwithstanding the long letter that Lucy sends him. Poor 
fellow ! he has been badly wounded, but, it seems, declines going 
back to England.” 

“ Captain Power,” said an orderly, touching his cap, “ General 
Murray desires to see you.” 

Power hastened away, but returned in a few moments. 

“ I say, Charley, there’s something in the wind here. I have 
just been ordered to try where the stream is fordable. I’ve men- 
tioned your name to the General, and I think you’ll be sent for 
soon. Good-bye.” 

I buckled on my sword, and looking to my girths, stood watch- 
ing the groups around me ; when, suddenly, a dragoon pulled his 
horse short up, and asked a man near me if Mr. O’Malley was 
there ? 

“ Yes ; I am he.” 

“ Orders from General Murray, sir,” said the man, and rode off 
at a canter. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


275 


I opened and saw that the despatch was addressed to Sir Arthur 
Wellesley, with the mere words, ‘^with haste,’’ on the enve- 
lope. 

Now which way to turn I knew not ; so springing into the sad- 
dle, I galloped to where Colonel Merivale was standing talking to 
the colonel of a heavy dragoon regiment. 

‘‘May I ask, sir, by which road I am to proceed with this 
despatch ?” 

“ By the river, sir,” said the heavy ; a large dark-browed man, 
with a most forbidding look. “ You’ll soon see the troops : you’d 
better stir yourself, sir, or Sir Arthur is not very likely to be pleased 
with you.” 

Without venturing a reply to what I felt a somewhat unneces- 
sary taunt, I dashed spurs to my horse, and turned towards the 
river. I had not gained the bank above a minute, when the loud 
ringing of a rifle struck upon my ear : bang went another, and 
another. I hurried on, however, at the top of my speed, thinking 
only of my mission and its pressing haste. As I turned an angle 
of the stream, the vast column of the British came in sight, and 
scarcely had my eye rested upon them when my horse staggered 
forwards, plunged twice with his head nearly to the earth, and 
then, rearing madly up, fell backwards upon the ground. Crushed 
and bruised as I felt by my fall, I was soon aroused to the neces- 
sity of exertion; for, as I disengaged myself from the poor beast, 
I discovered he had been killed by a bullet in the counter ; and 
scarcely had I recovered my legs when a shot struck my shako and 
grazed my temples. I quickly threw myself to the ground, and, 
creeping on for some yards, reached at last some rising ground, 
from which I rolled gently downwards into a little declivity, shel- 
tered by the bank from the French fire. 

When I arrived at head-quarters, I was dreadfully fatigued and 
heated; but resolving not to rest till I had delivered my despatches, 
I hastened towards the convent of La Sierra, where I was told the 
Commander-in-chief was. 

As I came into the court of the convent, filled with general offi- 
cers and people of the staff', I was turning to ask how I should 
proceed, Avhen Hixley caught my eye. 

“ Well, O’Malley, what brings you here ?” 

“ Despatches from General Murray.” 

“Indeed: 0, follow me.” 

He hurried me rapidly through the buzzing crowd, and ascend- 
ing a large gloomy stair, introduced me into a room, where about 
a dozen persons in uniform were writing at a long deal table. 

“ Captain Gordon,” said he, addressing one of them, “despatches 
requiring immediate perusal have just been brought by this 
officer.” 

Before the sentence was finished the door opened, and a short, 
slight man, in a gray undress coat, with a white cravat and a 


276 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


cocked hat, entered. The dead silence that ensued was not neces- 
sary to assure me that he was one in authority ; the look of com- 
mand his bold, stem features presented ; the sharp piercing eye ; 
the compressed lip ; the impressive expression of the whole face, 
told plainly that he was one who held equally himself and others 
in mastery. 

‘^Send General Sherbroke here,” said he to an aid-de-camp. 

Let the light brigade march into position,” and then, turning sud- 
denly to me, “ whose despatches are these ?” 

General Murray’s, sir.” 

I needed no more than that look to assure me that this was he 
of whom I had heard so much, and of whom the world Was still 
to hear so much more. 

He opened them quickly, and glancing his eye across the con- 
tents, crushed the paper in his hand. Just as he did so, a spot of 
blood upon the envelope attracted his attention. 

How’s this? are you wounded?” 

No, sir ; my horse was killed ” 

‘‘Very well, sir; join your brigade. But, stay, I shall have 
orders for you. Well, Waters, what news ?” 

This question was addressed to an officer in a staff uniform, who 
entered at the moment, followed by the short and bulky figure of 
a monk, his shaven crown and large cassock strongly contrasting 
with the gorgeous glitter of the costumes around him. 

“ I say, who have we here ?” 

“The Prior of Amarante, sir,” replied Waters, “who has just 
come over. We have already, by his aid, secured three large 
barges ” 

“ Let the artillery take up position in the convent at once,” said 
Sir Arthur, interrupting. “ The boats will be brought round to the 
small creek beneath the orchard. You, sir,” turning to me, “ will 

convey to General Murray — but you appear weak You, 

Gordon, will desire Murray to eff’ect a crossing at Avintas with the 
Germans and the 14th. Sherbroke’s division will occupy the Villa 
Nuova. What number of men can that seminary take ?” 

“ From three to four hundred, sir. The padre mentions that all 
the vigilance of the enemy is limited to the river below the 
town.” 

“ I perceive it,” was the short reply of Sir Arthur, as, placing his 
hands carelessly behind his back, he walked towards the window 
and looked out upon the river. 

All was still as death in the council : not a lip murmured ; the 
feeling of respect for him in whose presence we were standing, 
checked every thought of utterance, while the stupendous gravity 
of the events before us, engrossed every mind and occupied every 
heart. I was standing near the window ; the effect of my fall had 
stunned me for a time, but I was gradually recovering, and watched 
with a thrilling heart the scene before me. Great and absorbing 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


277 


as was my interest in what was passing without, it was nothing 
compared with what I felt as I looked at him upon whom our des- 
tiny was then hanging. I had ample time to scan his features and 
canvass their every lineament. Never before did I look upon such 
perfect impassibility : the cold determined expression was crossed 
by no show of passion or impatience. All was rigid and motion 
less, and, whatever might have been the workings of the spirit 
within, certainly no external sign betrayed them ; and yet what a 
moment for him must that have been ! Before him, separated by 
a deep and rapid river, lay the conquering legions of France, led 
on by one second alone to him, whose very name had been the 
pi'estige of victory. Unprovided with every regular means of 
transport, in the broad glare of day, in open defiance of their ser- 
ried ranks and thundering artillery, he dared the deed. What must 
have been his confidence in the soldiers he commanded ! what must 
have been his reliance upon his own genius ! As such thoughts 
rushed through my mind, the door opened and an officer entered 
hastily, and, whispering a few words to Colonel Waters, left the 
room. 

One boat is already brought up to the crossing-place, and en- 
tirely concealed by the wall of the orchard.’’ 

Let the men cross,” was the brief reply. 

No other word was spoken as, turning from the window, he 
closed his telescope, and, followed by all the others, descended to 
the court-yard. 

This simple order was enough; an officer, with a company 
of the Buffs, embarked, and thus began the passage of the 
Douro. 

So engrossed was I in my vigilant observation of our leader, 
that I would gladly have remained at the convent, when I received 
an order to join my brigade, to which a detachment of artillery was 
already proceeding. 

As I reached Avintas all was in motion. The cavalry was in 
readiness beside the river : but as yet no boats had been discover- 
ed, and, such was the impatience of the men to cross, it was with 
difficulty they were prevented trying the passage by swimming, 
when suddenly Power appeared, followed by several fishermen. 
Three or four small skiff’s had been found, half sunk in mud, 
among the rushes, and with such frail assistance we commenced to 
cross. 

There will be something to write home to Galway soon, 
Charley, or Pm terribly mistaken,” said Fred, as he sprung into 
the boat beside me ; was I not a true prophet when I told you, 
^ We’d meet the French in the morning ?’ ” 

They’re at it already,” said Hixley, as a wreath of blue smoke 
floated across the stream below us, and the loud boom of a large 
gun resounded through the air. 

Then came a deafening shout, followed by a rattling volley of 

2 A 


278 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


small arms, gradually swelling into a hot sustained fire, through 
which the cannon pealed at intervals. Several large meadows 
lay along the river-side, where our brigade was drawn up as the 
detachments landed from the boats ; and here, although nearly a 
league distant from the town, we now heard the din and crash of 
battle, which increased every moment. The cannonade from the 
Sierra convent, which at first was merely the fire of single guns, 
now thundered away in one long roll, amid which the sounds of 
failing walls and crashing roofs was mingled. It was evident to 
us, from the continual fire kept up, that the landing had been 
effected, while the swelling tide of musketry told that fresh troops 
were momentarily coming up. 

In less than twenty minutes our brigade was formed, and we 
now only waited for two light four-pounders to be landed, when 
an officer galloped up in haste, and called out : — 

“ The French are in retreat,’’ and, pointing at the same moment 
to the Vallonga road, we saw a long line of smoke and dust lead- 
ing from the town, through which, as we gazed, the colours of the 
enemy might be seen, as they defiled, while the unbroken line of 
the wagons and heavy baggage, proved that it was no partial 
movement, but the army itself retreating. 

‘‘ Fourteenth, threes about, close up, trot,” called out the loud 
and manly voice of our leader, and the heavy tramp of our squad- 
rons shook the very ground, as we advanced towards the road to 
Vallonga. 

As we came on, the scene became one of overwhelming excite- 
ment ; the masses of the enemy that poured unceasingly from the 
town could now be distinguished more clearly, and, amid all the 
crash of gun carriages and caissons, the voices of the staff officers 
rose high as they hurried along the retreating battalions. A troop 
of flying artillery galloped forth at top speed, and, wheeling their 
guns into position with the speed of lightning, prepared by a flank- 
ing fire to cover the retiring column. The gunners sprung from 
their seats, the guns were already unlimbered, when Sir George 
Murray, riding up at our left, called out : — 

Forward ; close up ; charge !” 

The word was scarcely spoken, when the loud cheer answered 
the welcome sound, and the same instant the long line of shining 
helmets passed with the speed of a whirlwind ; the pace increased 
at every stride, the ranks grew closer, and, like the dread force of 
some mighty engine, we fell upon the foe. I have felt all the glo- 
rious enthusiasm of a fox-hunt, when the loud cry of the hound, 
answered by the cheer of the joyous huntsman, stirred the very 
heart within, but never till now did I know how far higher the 
excitement reaches, when man to man, sabre to sabre, arm to arm, 
we ride forward to the battle field. ' On we went, the loud shout 
of ‘‘ forward” still ringing in our ears. One broken, irregular dis- 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


279 


charge from the French guns shook the head of our advancing 
column, but stayed us not as we galloped madly on. 

I remember no more: the din, the smoke, the crash, — the cry 
for quarter, mingled with the shout of victory, — the flying enemy, — 
the agonizing shrieks of the wounded — are all co-mingled in my 
mind, but leave no trace of clearness or connection between them ; 
and it was only when the column wheeled to re-form, behind the 
advancing squadrons, that I awoke from my trance of maddening 
excitement, and perceived that we had carried the position, and 
cut ofi* the guns of the enemy. 

“ Well done, 14th said an old gray-headed colonel, as he rode 
along our line ; gallantly done, lads !” The blood trickled from a 
sabre cut on his temple, along his cheek, as he spoke ; but he 
either knew it not, or heeded it not. 

“ There go the Germans !” said Power ; pointing to the re- 
mainder of our brigade, as they charged furiously upon the French 
infantry, and rode them down in masses. 

Our guns came up at this time, and a plunging fire was opened 
upon the thick and retreating ranks of the enemy; the carnage 
must have been terrific, for the long breaches in their lines showed 
where the squadrons of the cavalry had passed, or the most de- 
structive tide of the artillery had swept through them. The speed 
of the flying columns grew momentarily more ; the road became 
blocked up, too, by broken carriages and wounded ; and, to add to 
their discomfiture, a damaging fire now opened from the town 
upon the retreating column, while the brigade of Guards and the 
29th pressed hotly on their rear. 

The scene was now beyond any thing maddening in its interest. 
From the walls of Oporto the English infantry poured forth in pur- 
suit; while the whole river was covered with boats, as they still 
continued to cross over. The artillery thundered from the Sierra, 
to protect the landing, for it was even still contested in places ; and 
the cavalry, charging in flank, swept the broken ranks, and bore 
down upon their squares. 

It was now, when the full tide of victory la. highest in our 
favour, that we were ordered to retire from the n^ad. Column 
after column passed before us, unmolested and unassailed ; and 
not even a cannon-shot arrested their steps. 

Some unaccountable timidity of our leader directed this move- 
ment ; and, while before our very eyes the gallant infantry were 
charging the retiring columns, we remained still and inactive. 

How little did the sense of praise we had already won repay us 
for the shame and indignation we experienced at this moment, as, 
with burning cheek and compressed lip, we watched the retreating 
files. What can he mean Is there not some mistake ?” Are 
we never to charge ?’’ were the muttered questions around, as a 
staff officer galloped up with the order to take ground still farther 
back, and nearer to the river. 


280 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


The word was scarcely spoken, when a young officer, in the 
uniform of a general, dashed impetuously up ; he held his plumed 
cap high above his head, as he called out, 14th, follow me ! Left 
face — wheel — charge V’ 

So, with the word, we were upon them. The French rear-guard 
was at this moment at the narrowest pa^rt of, the road, which opened 
by a bridge upon a large open space ; so that, forming with a nar- 
row front, and favoured by a declivity in the ground, we actually 
rode them down. Twice the French formed, and twice were they 
broken. Meanwhile the carnage was dreadful on both sides ; our 
fellows dashing madly forward where the ranks were thickest — the 
enemy resisting with the stubborn courage of men fighting for their 
last spot of ground. So impetuous was the charge of our squad 
rons, that we stopped aot till, piercing the dense column of the re- 
treating mass, we reached the open ground beyond. Here we 
\vheeled, and prepared once more to meet them ; when suddenly 
some squadrons of cuirassiers debouched from the road, and, sup- 
ported by a field-piece, showed front against us. This was the 
moment that the remainder of our brigade should have come to our 
aid ; but not a man appeared. However, there was not an instant 
to be lost ; already the plunging fire of the four-pounder had swept 
through our files, and every moment increased our danger. 

Once more, my lads, forward !” cried out our gallant leader, 
Sir Charles Stewart, as, waving his sabre, he dashed into the 
thickest of the fray. 

So sudden was our charge, that we were upon them before they 
were prepared. And here ensued a terrific struggle ; for, as the 
cavalry of the enemy gave way before us, Ave cam^ upon the close 
ranks of the infantry at half-pistol distance, who poured a wither- 
ing volley into us as we approached. But what could arrest the 
sweeping torrent of our brave -fellows, though every moment fall- 
ing in numbers ! 

Harvey, our major, lost his arm near the shoulder: scarcely an 
officer was not wounded. Power received a deep sabre cut in the 
cheek, from an aid-de-camp of General Foy, in return for a wound 
he gaAm the general ; while I, in my endeavour to save General 
Laborde, when unhorsed, was cut down through the helmet, and 
so stunned that I remembered no more around me : I kept my sad- 
dle, it is true, but I lost every sense of consciousness ; my first 
glimmering of reason coming to my aid as I lay upon the river 
bank, and felt my faithful follower Mike bathing my temples with 
water, as he kept up a running fire of lamentations for my being 
murthered so young. 

Are you better. Mister Charles ? Spake to me, alanah ; say 
that you’re not kilt, darling ; do now. Oh, wirra ! what’ll I ever 
say to the master ? and you doing so beautiful ! Wouldn’t he give 
the best baste in his stable to be looking at you to-day ? There, 
take a sup ; it’s only water. Bad luck to them, but it’s hard work 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


281 


beatin’ them ; they’re only gone now. That’s right : now you’re 
coming to.” 

“ Where am I, Mike ?” 

It’s here you are, darling, resting yourself.” 

Well, Charley, my poor fellow, you’ve got sore bones too,” 
cried Power, as, his face swathed in bandages, and covered with 
blood, he lay down on the grass beside me. “ It was a gallant 

thing while it lasted, but has cost us dearly. Poor Hixley ” 

What of him ?” said I, anxiously. 

“ Poor fellow ! he has seen his last battle-field. He fell across 
me as we came out upon the road : I lifted him up in my arms, 
and bore him along above fifty yards ; but he was stone dead : not 
a sigh, not a word escaped him ; shot through the forehead.” As 
he spoke, his lips trembled, and his voice sunk to a mere whisper 
at the last words,—-^^ You remember what he said last night — 
‘ Poor fellow ! he was every inch a soldier.’ ” 

Such was his epitaph. 

I turned my head towards the scene of our late encounter : 
some dismounted guns and broken wagons alone marked the spot ; 
while, far in the distance, the dust of the retreating columns show- 
ed the beaten enemy, as they hurried towards the frontiers of 
Spain. 


36 


2a2 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, ' 


i>82 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

THE MORNING. 

There are few sadder things in life than the day after a battle. 
The high-beating hope, the bounding spirits, have passed away ; 
and in their stead comes the depressing reaction by which every 
overwrought excitement is followed. With far ditferent eyes do 
we look upon the compact ranks and glistening files. 

With helm arrayed, 

And lance and blade, 

And plume in the gay wind dancing ! 

and upon the cold and barren heath, whose only memory of the 
past is the blood-stained turf, a mangled corpse, the broken gun, 
the shattered wall, the well-trodden earth where columns stood, 
the cut-up ground where cavalry had charged : these are the sad 
relics of all the chivalry of yesterday. 

****** 

****** 

* * * * * * 

The morning which followed the battle of the Douro was one 
of the most beautiful I ever remember. There was that kind of 
freshness and elasticity in the air which certain days possess, and 
communicate by some magic their properties to ourselves. The 
thrush was singing gayly out from every grove and wooded dell ; 
the very river had a sound of gladness as it rippled on against its 
sedgy banks ; the foliage, too, sparkled in the fresh dew, as in its 
robes of holiday, and all looked bright and happy. 

We were picketed near the river, upon a gently rising ground, 
from which the view extended for miles in every direction. Above 
us, the stream came winding down amid broad and fertile fields of 
tall grass and waving corn, backed by deep and mellow woods, 
which were lost to the view upon the distant hills : below, the 
river, widening as it went, pursued a straighter course, or turned 
with bolder curves, till, passing beneath the town, it spread into a 
large sheet of glassy water, as it opened to the sea. The sun was 
just rising as I looked upon this glorious scene, and already the tall 
spires of Oporto were tipped with a bright rosy hue, while the 
massive towers and dark walls threw their lengthened shadows far 
across the plain. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


283 


The fires of the bivouac still burned ; but all slept around them : 
not a sound was heard, save the tramp of a patrol, or the short 
quick cry of the sentry. I sat lost in meditation, or rather in that 
state of dreamy thoughtfulness in which the past and present are 
combined, and the absent are alike before us as are the things we 
look upon. 

One moment I felt as fTiough I were describing to my uncle the 
battle of the day before, pointing out vvhere we stood, and how we 
charged : then again I was at home beside the broad bleak Shan- 
non, and the brown hills of Scariff.- I watched with beating heart 
the tall Sierra, where our path lay for the future, and then turned 
my thoughts to him whose name was so soon to be received in 
England with a nation’s pride and gratitude ; and panted for a 
soldier’s glory. 


As thus I followed every rising fancy, I heard a step approach : 
it was a figure muflled in a cavalry cloak, which I soon perceived 
to be Power. 

‘• Charley !” said he, in a half-whisper, “get up and come with 
me. You are aware of the general order, that, while in pursuit of 
an enemy, all military honours to the dead are forbidden; but we 
wish to place our poor comrade in the earth before we leave.” 

I followed down a little path, through a grove of tall beech trees 
that opened upon a little grassy terrace beside the river. A stunted 
olive tree stood by itself in the midst, and there I found five of our 
brother officers standing, wrapped in their wide cloaks. As we 
pressed each other’s hands, not a word was spoken : each heart 
was full ; and hard features that never quailed before the foe were 
now shaken with the convulsive spasm of agony, or compressed 
with stern determination to seem calm. 

A cavalry helmet and a large blue cloak lay upon the grass. The 
narrow grave was already dug beside it; and, in the deathlike 
stillness around, the service for the dead was read : the last words 
were over ; we stooped and placed the corpse, wrapped up in the 
broad mantle, in the earth ; we replaced the mould, and stood si- 
lently around the spot. The trumpet of our regiment at this mo- 
ment sounded the call ; its clear notes rang sharply through the 
thin air : — it was the soldier’s requiem ! and we turned away 
without speaking, and returned to our quarters. 

I had never known poor Hixley till a day or two before, but 
somehow my grief for him was deep and heartfelt. It was not that 
-his frank and manly bearing, his bold and military air, had gained 
upon me. No, these were indeed qualities to attract and delight 
me ; but he had obtained a stronger and faster hold upon my affec- 
tions: he spoke to me of home ! 

Of all the ties that bind us to the chance acquaintances we meet 
with in life, what can equal this one ? What a claim upon your 
.ove has he who can, by some passing word, some fast-fiitting 
thought, bring back the days of your youth ? What interest can 


284 


CHARLES O^MALLEY, 


he not excite by some anecdote of your boyish days, some well 
remembered trait of youthful daring, or early enterprise ? Many 
a year of sunshine and of storm has passed above my head ; I 
have not been without my moments of gratified pride, and reward- 
ed ambition ; but my heart has never responded so fully, so thank- 
fully, so proudly to these — such as they were — as to the simple, 
touching words of one who knew my early home and loved its 
inmates. 

“Well, Fitzroy, what news?’’ inquired I, roused from my mus- 
ung, as an aid-de-camp galloped up at full speed. 

“ Tell Merivale to get the regiment under arms at once. Sir 
Arthur Wellesley will be here in less than half an hour. You 
may look for the route immediately. Where are the Germans 
quartered ? 

“ Lower down ; beside that grove of beech trees, next the 
river.” 

Scarcely was my reply spoken when he dashed spurs to his 
horse, and was soon out of sight. Meanwhile, the plain beneath 
me presented an animated and splendid spectacle. The different 
corps were falling into position to the enlivening sounds of their 
quick-step, the trumpets of the cavalry rang loudly through the 
valley, and the clatter of sabres and sabretaches, joined with the 
hollow tramp of the horses, as the squadrons came up. 

I had not a moment to lose ; so, hastening back to my quarters, 
I found Mike waiting with my horse. 

“ Captain Power’s before you, sir,” said he, “and you’ll have to 
make haste : the regiments are under arms already.” 

From the little mound where I stood, I could see the long line 
of cavalry as they deployed into the plain, followed by the horse 
artillery, which brought up the rear. 

“ This looks like a march,” thought I, as I pressed forward to 
join my companions. 

I had not advanced above a hundred yards through a narrow 
ravine when the measured tread of infantry fell upon my ears. I 
pulled up to slacken my pace, just as the head of a column turned 
round the angle of the road and came in view. The tall caps of a 
grenadier company were the first thing I beheld, as they came on 
without roll of drum and sound of fife. I watched with a soldier’s 
pride the manly bearing and gallant step of the dense mass as they 
defiled before me. I was struck no less by them than by a certain 
look of a steady but sombre cast which each man wore. 

“What can this mean?” thought I. 

My first impression was, that a military execution was about to 
take place : the next moment solved my doubt; for, as the last files 
of the grenadiers wheeled round, a dense mass behind came in 
sight, whose unarmed hands, and downcast air, at once bespoke 
them prisoners of war. 

What a sad sight it was! There was the old and weather- 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


2S5 


beaten grenadier, erect in frame and firm in step, his gray mous- 
tache scarcely concealing the scowl that curled his lip, handcuffed 
with the young and daring conscript, even yet a mere boy : their 
march was regular, their gaze steadfast j no look of flinching 
courage there. On they came, a long unbroken line. They looked 
not less proudly than their captors around them. As I looked 
with heavy heart upon them, my attention was attracted to one 
who marched alone behind the rest. He was a middle-sized but 
handsome youth of some eighteen years at most : his light helmet 
and waving plume bespoke him a chasseur a cheval, and I could 
plainly perceive, in his careless, half-saucy air, how indignantly he 
felt the position to which the fate of war had reduced him. He 
caught my eyes fixed upon him, and, for an instant, turned upon 
me a gaze of open and palpable defiance, drawing himself up to 
his full height and crossing his arms upon his breast ; but, proba- 
bly, perceiving in my look more of interest than triumph, his coun- 
tenance suddenly changed, a deep blush suffused his cheek, his eye 
beamed with a softened and kindly expression, and carrying his 
hand to his helmet, he saluted me, saying, in a voice of singular 
sweetness, “ Je vous souhaite un meilleiir sort, camaradeP 
I bowed, and muttering something in return, was about to make 
some inquiry concerning him, when the loud call of the trumpet 
rang through the valley, and apprized me that, in my interest for 
the prisoners, I had forgotten all else, and was probably incurring 
censure for my absence. 


286 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

THE REVIEW. 

When 1 joined the group of my brother officers, who stood 
gayly chattering and laughing together before our lines, I was much 
surprised. — nay, almost shocked — to find how little seeming impres- 
sion had been made upon them by the sad duty we had performed 
that morning. 

When last we met, each eye was downcast, each heart was full : 
sorrow for him we had lost from amongst us forever, mingling 
with the awful sense of our own uncertain tenure here, had laid 
its impress on each brow ; but now, scarcely an hour elapsed, and 
all were cheerful and elated. The last shovelful of earth upon 
the grave seemed to have buried both the dead and the mourning. 
And such is war ! and such the temperament it forms ! Events so 
strikingly opposite in their character and influences succeed so 
rapidly one upon another, that the mind is kept in one whirl of ex- 
citement and at length accustoms itself to change with every phase 
of circumstances ; and between joy and grief, hope and despond- 
ency, enthusiasm and depression, there is neither breadth nor inter- 
val : they follow each other as naturally as morning succeeds to 
night. 

I had not much time for such reflections : scarcely had I saluted 
the officers about me, when the loud prolonged roll of the drums 
along the line of infantry in the valley, followed by the sharp clat- 
ter of muskets as they were raised to the shoulder, announced the 
troops were under arms and the review begun. 

Have you seen the general order this morning. Power in- 
quired an old officer beside me. 

‘^No ; they say, however, that ours are mentioned.^’ 

Harvey is going on favourably,” cried a young cornet, as he 
galloped up to our party. 

. “ Take ground to the left !” sung out the clear voice of the 
Colonel, as he rode ^long in front. Fourteenth ! I am happy to 
inform you that your conduct has met approval in the highest 
quarter. I have just received the general orders, in which this 
occurs : — 

The timely passage of the Douro, and subsequent move- 
ments upon the enemy’s flank, by Lieutenant-General Sher- 
broke, with the Guards and 29/A Regiment, and the bravery of 
the two squadrons of the lAth Light Dragoons, under the com- 
mand of Major Harvey, and led by the Honourable Brigadier 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


287 


general Charles Stewart, obtained the victory.'^ — Mark that, my 
lads ! — obtained the victory — “ which has contributed so much 
to the honour of the troops on this day.’^ 

The words were hardly spoken, when a tremendous cheer burst 
from the whole line at once. 

“ Steady, Fourteenth ! steady, lads !” said the gallant old Colo- 
nel, as he raised his hand gently ; “ the staff is approaching.’’ 

At the same moment, the white plumes appeared rising above 
the brow of the hill. On they came, glittering in all the splendour 
of aiguillettes and orders ; all, save one. Ho rode foremost, upon 
a small, compact, hlack horse ; his dress, a plain gray frock, fasten- 
ed at the waist by a red sash : his cocked hat alone bespoke, in 
its plume, the general officer. He galloped rapidly on till he came 
to the centre of the line : then, turning short around, he scanned 
the ranks from end to end with an eagle glance. 

“ Colonel Merivale, you have, made known to your regiment my 
opinion of them, as expressed in general orders ?” 

The Colonel bowed low in acquiescence. 

“ Fitzroy, you have got the memorandum, I hope ?” 

The aide-de-camp here presented to Sir Arthur a slip of paper, 
which he continued to regard attentively for some minutes. 

Captain Powel — Power, I mean. Captain Power !” 

Power rode out from the line. 

Your very distinguished conduct yesterday has been reported 
to me. I shall have sincere pleasure in forwarding your name for 
the vacant majority.” 

You have forgotten, Colonel Merivale, to send in the name of 
the officer who saved General Laborde’s life.” 

I believe I have mentioned it. Sir Arthur. Mr. O’Malley.” 

True, I beg pardon ; so you have — Mr. O’Malley : a very 
young officer indeed — ^ha, an Irishman ! the south of Ireland, eh ?” 

No, sir, the west.” 

Oh ! yes. Well, Mr. O’Malley, you are promoted. You have 
the lieutenancy in your own regiment. By-the-by, Merivale,” — 
here his voice changed into a half laughing tone, ere I forget it, 
pray let me beg of you to look into this honest fellow’s claim; he 
has given me no peace the entire morning.” 

As he spoke I turned my eyes in the direction he pointed, and, 
to my utter consternation, beheld my man Mickey Free standing 
among the staff ; the position he occupied, and the presence he 
stood in, having no more perceptible effect upon his nerves than 
if he were assisting at an Irish wake : but so completely was I 
overwhelmed with shame at the moment, that the staff were 
already far down the lines, ere I recovered my self-possession, to 
which, certainly, I was in some degree recalled by Master Mike’s 
addressing me in a somewhat imploring voice : — 

‘‘ Arrah, spake for me. Master Charles, alanah ; sure they might 
do something for me now, av it was only to make me a gauger.” 


288 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


Mickey’s ideas of promotion, thus insinuatingly put forward, 
threw the whole party around into one hurst of laughter. 

I have him down there,” said he, pointing as he spoke to a 
thick grove of cork trees at a little distance. 

Who have you got there, Mike ?” inquired Power. 

“ Devil a one o’ me knows his name,” replied he ; “ maybe it’s 
Bony himself.” 

And how do you know he’s there still ?” 

“ How do I know, is it ? Didn’t I tie him last night.” 

Curiosity to find out what Mickey could possibly allude to, in- 
duced Power and myself to follow him down the slope to the 
clump of trees I have mentioned. As we came near, the very dis- 
tinct denunciations that issued from the thicket, proved pretty 
plainly the nature of the affair. It was nothing less than a French 
officer of cavalry, that Mike had unhorsed in the mUee, and wish- 
ing, probably, to preserve some testimony of his prowess, had 
made prisoner, and tied fast to a cork tree, the preceding evening. 

“ Sacrebleu said the poor Frenchman, as we approached, 
“ que ce sont des sauvages 

‘‘Av it’s making your sowl, ye are,” said Mike, you’re right ; 
for, maybe, they won’t let me keep ^mu alive.” 

Mike’s idea of a tame prisoner threw me into a fit of laughing, 
while Power asked, 

‘‘And what do you want to do with him, Mickey ?” 

“ The sorra one o’ me knows, for he spakes no dacent tongue. 
Thegium thoo,” said he, addressing the prisoner, with a poke in 
the ribs at the same moment : “ but sure, Master Charles, he might 
tache me French.” 

There was something so irresistibly ludicrous in his tone and 
look as he said these words, that both Power and myself absolutely 
roared with laughter. We began, however, to feel not a little 
ashamed of our position in the business, and explained to the 
Frenchman, that our worthy countryman had but little experience 
of the usages of war, while we proceeded to unbind him, and libe- 
rate him from his miserable bondage. 

“ It’s letting him loose, you are. Captain ? Master Charles, take 
care : begorra, av you had as much trouble in catching him as I 
had, you’d think twice about letting him out. Listen to me, 
now,” — here he placed his closed fist within an inch of the poor 
prisoner’s nose ; — “ listen to me : av you say peas, by the morteal, 
I’ll not lave a whole bone in your skin.” 

With some difficulty we persuaded Mike that his conduct, so 
far from leading to his promotion, might, if known in another 
quarter, procure him an acquaintance with the provost marshal, 
a fact which, it was plain to perceive, gave him but a very poor 
impression of military gratitude. 

“ Oh, then, if they were in swarms foment me, devil receave the 
prisoner I’ll take again.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


289 


So saying, he slowly returned to the regiment, while Power and 
I, having conducted the Frenchman to the rear, cantered towards 
the town to learn the news of the day. 

The city on that day presented a most singular ' aspect — the 
streets, filled with the town’s-people and the soldiery, were deco- 
rated with flags and garlands — the cafes were crowded with mer- 
ry groups, and the sounds of music and laughter resounded on all 
sides. The houses seemed to be quite inadequate to aiford ac- 
commodation to the numerous guests, and, in consequence, bul- 
lock cars and forage wagons were converted into temporary 
hotels, and many a jovial party were collected in both. Military 
music, church bells, drinking chorusses, were all commingled in 
the din and turmoil ; processions in honour of our “ Lady of Suc- 
cour,’’ were jammed up among bacchanalian orgies, and their 
very chaunt half-drowned in the cries of the wounded, as they 
passed on to the hospitals. With difficulty we pushed our way 
through the dense mob, as we turned our steps towards the semi- 
nary. We both felt naturally curious to see the place where our 
first detachment landed, and to examine the opportunities of de- 
fence it presented. The building itself was a large and irregular 
one, of an oblong form, surrounded by a high wall of solid mason- 
ry, the only entrance being by a heavy iron gate. 

At this spot the battle appeared to have raged with violence ; 
one side of the massive gate was torn from its hinges, and lay flat 
upon the ground ; the walls were breached in many places : and 
pieces of torn uniforms, broken bayonets, and bruised shakos, at- 
tested that the conflict was a close one. The seminary itself was 
in a falling state ; the roof, from which Paget had given his orders, 
and where he was wounded, had fallen in. The French cannon 
had fissured the building from top to bottom, and it seemed only 
awaiting the slightest impulse to crumble into ruin. When we 
regarded the spot, and examined the narrow doorway which, 
opening upon a flight of a few steps to the river, admitted our 
first party, we could not help feeling struck anew with the gal- 
lantry of that mere handful of brave fellows, who thus threw 
themselves amid the overwhelming legions of the enemy, and at 
once, without waiting for a single reinforcement, opened a fire 
upon their ranks. Bold as the enterprise unquestionably was, we 
still felt with what consummate judgment it had been planned ; — 
a bend of the river concealed, entirely, the passage of the troops, 
the guns of the Sierra covered their landing, and completely swept 
one approach to the seminary. The French, being thus obliged to 
attack by the gate, were compelled to make a considerable detour 
before they reached it, all of which gave time for our divisions to 
cross, while the brigade of Guards, under General Sherbroke, pro- 
fiting by the confusion, passed the river below the town, and took 
the enemy unexpectedly in rear. 

Brief as was the struggle within the town, it must have been a 
37 2 B 


290 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


terrific one ; the artillery were firing at musket range ; cavalry and 
infantry were fighting hand to hand in narrow streets, a destruc- 
tive musketry pouring all the while from windows and house tops. 

At the Amarante gate, where the French defiled, the carnage 
was also great : their light artillery unlimbered some guns here, to 
cover the columns as they deployed; but Murray’s cavalry having 
carried these, the flank of the infantry became entirely exposed to 
the galling fire of small arms from the seminary, and the far more 
destructive shower of grape that poured unceasingly from the 
Sierra. 

Our brigade did the rest ; and in less than one hour from the 
landing of the first man, the French were in full retreat upon Val- 
longa. 

“ A glorious thing, Charley,” said Power, after a pause, and a 
proud souvenir for hereafter.” 

A truth I felt deeply at the time, and one my heart responds to 
not less fully as I am writing. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


291 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

THE QUARREL. 

On the evening of the 12th, orders were received for the 
German brigade and three squadrons of our regiment to pursue 
the French upon the Terracintiie road, by day-break on the fol- 
lowing morning. 

I was busily occupied in my preparations for a hurried march, 
when Mike came up to say that an officer desired to speak with 
me ; and the moment after. Captain Hammersly appeared. A 
sudden flush coloured his pale and sickly features, as he held out 
his hand, and said : — 

I’ve come to wish you joy, O’Malley ; I just this instant heard 
of your promotion. I am sincerely glad of it ; pray tell me the 
whole affair.” 

That is the very thing I am unable to do. I have some very 
vague, indistinct remembrance of warding off a sabre cut from 
the head of a wounded and unhorsed officer, in the mUe^ of yes- 
terday ; but more I know not. In fact, it was my first day under 
fire : I’ve a tolerably clear recollection of all the events of the 
morning ; but the word ‘ charge’ once given, I remember very little 
more. But you, where have you been ? How have we not met 
before ?” 

I’ve exchanged into a heavy dragoon regiment, and am now 
employed upon the staff.” 

You are aware that I have letters for you?” 

Power hinted, I think, something of the kind ; I saw him very 
hurriedly.” 

These words were spoken with an effort at nonchalance that 
evidently cost him much. 

As for me, my agitation was scarcely less, as, fumbling for 
some seconds in my portmanteau, I drew forth the long destined 
packet. As I placed it in his hands, he grew deadly pale, and a 
slight spasmodic twitch in his upper lip bespoke some unusual 
struggle. He broke the seal suddenly, and, as he did so, the 
morocco case of a miniature fell upon the ground. His eyes ran 
rapidly across the letter ; the livid colour of his lips, as the blood 
forced itself to them, added to the corpse-like hue of his counte- 
nance. 

You, probably, are aware of the contents of this letter, Mr. 
O’Malley ?” said he, in an altered voice, whose tones, half in anger, 
half in suppressed irony, cut to my very heart. 


292 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


“ I am in complete ignorance of them/’ said I, calmly. 

Indeed, sir !” replied he, with a sarcastic curl of his mouth, as 
he spoke. Then, perhaps, you will tell me, too, that your very 
success is a secret to you.” 

“ I’m really not aware ” 

“ You think, probably, sir, that the pastime is an amusing one, 
t® interfere where the affections of others are concerned. I’ve 
heard of you, sir : your conduct at Lisbon is known to me ; and, 
though Captain Trevyllian may bear ” 

“ Stop, Captain Hammersly !” said I, with a tremendous effort 
to be calm ; Stop ! you have said enough, quite enough, to con- 
vince me of what your object was in seeking me here to-day. You 
shall not be disappointed. I trust that assurance will save you from 
any further display of temper.” 

“ I thank you ; most humbly I thank you for the quickness of 
your apprehension ; and I shall now take my leave. Good even- 
ing, Mr. O’Malley. I wish you much joy : you have my very 
fullest congratulations upon all your good fortune.” 

The sneering emphasis the last words were spoken with re- 
mained fixed in my mind long after he took his departure : and, 
indeed, so completely did the whole seem like a dream to me, that, 
were it not for the fragments of the miniature that lay upon the 
ground, where he had crushed them with his heel, I could scarcely 
credit myself that I was awake. 

My first impulse was to seek Power, upon whose judgment and 
discretion I could with confidence rely. 

I had not long to wait ; for scarcely had I thrown my cloak 
around me, when he rode up. He had just seen Hammersly, and 
learned something of our interview. 

“ Why, Charley, my dear fellow ! what is this ? How have you 
treated poor Hammersly 

Treated him! say, rather, how has he treated 

I here entered into a short, but accurate detail of our meeting ; 
during which. Power listened with great composure, while I could 
perceive, from the questions he asked, that some very different 
impression had been previously made upon his mind. 

And this was all that passed?” 

All.” 

‘‘ But what of the business at Lisbon ?” 

“ I don’t understand.” 

« Why he speaks — he has heard some foolish account of your 
having made some ridiculous speech there, about your successful 
rivalry of him in Ireland, — Lucy Dashwood, I suppose, is referred 
to." Some one has been good-natured enough to repeat the thing 
to him.” 

‘^But it never occurred: I never did.” 

Are you sure, Charley ?” 

I am sure : I know I never did.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


293 


" The poor fellow, he has been duped ! Come, Charley, you 
must not take it ill. Poor Hammersly has never recovered a 
sabre wound he received some months since upon the head : his 
intellects are really affected by it. Leave it all to me : promise not 
to leave your quarters till I return ; and Pll put every thing right 
again.” 

I gave the required pledge, while Power, springing into the 
saddle, left me to my own reflections. 

My frame of mind, as Power left me, was by no means an envi 
able one. A quarrel is rarely a happy incident in one’s life, still 
less is it so when the difference arises with one we are disposed to 
like and respect. Such was Hammersly : his manly, straight- 
forward character had won my esteem and regard, and it was 
with no common scrutiny I tasked my memory to think what could 
have given rise to the impression he laboured under, of my having 
injured him. His chance mention of Trevyllian suggested to me 
some suspicion that his dislike of me, wherefore arising I knew 
not, might have its share in the matter ; and in this state of doubt 
and uncertainty, I pdced impatiently up and down, anxiously 
watching for Power’s return, in the hope of at length getting some 
real insight into the difficulty. 

My patience was fast ebbing. Power had been absent above an 
hour, and no appearance of him could I detect, when suddenly 
the tramp of a horse came rapidly up the, hill. I looked out, and 
saw a rider coming forward at a very fast pace. Before I had 
time for even a guess as to who it was, he drew up, and I recog- 
nised Captain Trevyllian. There was a certain look of easy im- 
pertinence and half-smiling satisfaction about his features, I had 
never seen before, as he touched his cap in salute and said — 

“ May I have the honour of a few words’ conversation with 
you ?” 

I bowed silently, while he dismounted, and passing his bridle 
beneath his arm, walked on beside me. 

‘‘ My friend. Captain Hammersly, has commissioned me to wait 
upon you about this unpleasant affair ” 

‘‘I beg pardon for, the interruption. Captain Trevyllian, but 
as I have yet to learn to what you or your friend alludes, per- 
haps it may facilitate matters if you will explicitly state your 
meaning.” 

He grew crimson on the cheek as I said this, while, with a voice 
perfectly unmoved, he continued : — 

“ I am not sufficiently in my friend’s confidence to know the 
whole of the affair in question, nor have I his permission to enter 
into any of it, he probably presuming, as I certainly did myself, 
that your owp sense of honour would have deemed further parley 
and discussion both unnecessary and unseasonable.” 

In fact, then, if I understand, it is expected that I should meet 
Captain Hammersly for some reason unknown ” 

2 B 2 


294 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


‘‘ He certainly desires a meeting with you,’’ was the dry reply. 

‘‘ And as certainly I shall not give it, before, understanding upon 
what grounds.” 

“ And such I am to report as your answer,” said he, looking at 
me at the moment with an expression of ill-repressed triumph as 
he spoke. 

There was something in these few words, as well as in the tone 
in which they were spoken, that sunk deeply in my heart. Was 
it that by some trick of diplomacy he was endeavouring to com- 
promise my honour and character ? was it possible that my refusal 
might be construed into any other than the real cause ? I was too 
young, too inexperienced in the world to decide the question for 
myself, and no time was allowed me to seek another’s counsel. 
What a trying moment was that for me : my temples throbbed, 
my heart beat almost audibly, and I stood afraid to speak ; dread- 
ing, on the one hand, lest my compliance might involve me in an 
act to imbitter my life forever, and fearful, on the other, that my 
refusal might be reported as a trait of cowardice. 

He saw, he read my difficulty at a glance, and, with a smile of 
most supercilious expression, repeated coolly his former question. 
In an instant all thought of Hammersly was forgotten. I re- 
membered no more. I saw him before me ; he who had, since 
my first meeting, continually contrived to pass some inappre- 
ciable slight upon me. My eyes flashed, my hands tingled with 
ill-repressed rage, as I said, — 

“ With Captain Hammersly I am conscious of no quarrel, 
nor have I ever shown by any act or look an intention to provoke 
one. Indeed, such demonstrations are not always successful ; 
there are persons most rigidly scrupulous of a friend’s honour, 
little disposed to guard their own.” 

You mistake,” said he, interrupting me, as I spoke these words 
with a look as insulting as I could make it ; “ you mistake. I have 
sworn a solemn oath never to send a challenge.” 

The emphasis upon the word ‘‘ send,” explained full^^ his mean- 
ing, when I said, — 

“ But you will not decline ” 

‘‘ Most certainly not,” said he, again interrupting, while with 
sparkling eye and elated look he drew himself up to his full height. 

Your friend is ” 

Captain Power : and yours ” 

« Sir Harry Beaufort. I may observe that, as the troops are in 
marching order, the matter had better not be delayed.” 

There shall be none on my part.” 

« Nor mine,” said he, as with a low bow, and a look of most 
ineffable triumph, he sprung into his saddle ; “ then axi r avoir, Mr. 
O’Malley,” said he, gathering up his reins ; “ Beaufort is on the 
staff, and quartered at Oporto,” so saying, he cantered easily down 
the slope, and once more I was alone. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


295 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

THE ROUTE. 

I WAS leisurely examining my pistols — poor Considine’s last 
present to me on leaving home — when an orderly sergeant rode 
rapidly up, and delivered into my hands the following order : — 
Lieutenant O^Malley will hold himself in immediate readiness 
to proceed upon a particular service. By order of his Excellency 
the Commander of the ^Forces. 

[Signed,] S. Gordon, military secretary.’^ 

“What can this mean?” thought I. “It is not possible that 
any rumour of my intended meeting could have got abroad, 
and that my present destination could be intended as a punish- 
ment ?” 

I walked hurriedly to the door of the little hut which formed 
my quarters ; below me, in the plain, all was activity and prepara- 
tion ; the infantry were drawn up in marching order ; baggage 
wagons, ordnance stores, and artillery seemed all in active prepara- 
tion, and some cavalry squadrons might be already seen, with 
forage allowances behind the saddle, as if only waiting the order 
to set out. I strained my eyes to see if Power was coming, but 
no horseman approached in the direction. I stood, and I hesitated 
whether I should not rather seek him at once, than continue to 
wait on in my present uncertainty; but, then, what if I should 
miss him? and I pledged myself to remain till he returned. 

While I deliberated thus with myself, weighing the various 
chances for and against each plan, I saw two mounted officers 
coming towards me at a brisk trot. As they came nearer, I recog- 
nised one as my colonel : the other was an officer of the staff. 

Supposing that their mission had some relation to the order I 
had so lately received, and which, until now, I had forgotten, I 
hastily returned, and ordered Mike to my presence. 

“How are the horses, Mike?” said I. 

“ Never better, sir. Badger was wounded slightly by a spent 
shot in the counter, but he’s never the worse this morning, and 
the black horse is capering like a fiilly.” 

“ Get ready my pack, feed the cattle, and be prepared to set out 
at a moment’s warning.” 

“ Good advice, O’Malley,” said the colonel, as he overheard the 
last direction to my servant. “ I hope the nags are in condition.” 

“ Why, yes, sir ; I believe they are.” 

“ All the better ; you’ve a sharp ride before you. Meanwhile, 


296 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


let me introduce my friend ; Captain Beaumont, Mr. O’Malley. 
I think we had better be seated.” 

‘‘These are your instructions, Mr. O’Malley,” said Captain 
Beaumont, unfolding a map as he spoke. “You will proceed 
from this, with half a troop of your regiment, by forced marches, 
towards the frontier, passing through the town of Calenco, and 
Guarda, and the Estrella pass. On arriving at the head-quarters 
of the Lusitanian Legion, which you will find there, you are to 
put yourself under the orders of Major Monsoon, commanding 
that force. Any Portuguese cavalry he may have with him, will 
be attached to yours, and under your command ; your rank, for 
the time, being that of captain. You will, as far as possible, ac- 
quaint yourself with the habits and capabilities of the native ca- 
valry, and make such report as you judge necessary thereupon to 
his Excellency the Commander of the Fofces. I think it only 
fair to add, that you are indebted to my friend Colonel Merivale 
for the very flattering position thus opened to your skill and 
enterprise.” 

“ My dear Colonel, let me assure you ” 

“ Not a word, my boy. I knew the thing would suit you, and 
I am sure I can count upon your not disappointing my expecta- 
tions of you. Sir Arthur perfectly remembers your name : he 
only asked two questions : — 

“ ‘ Is he well mounted ?’ 

“ ‘ Admirably,’ was my answer. 

“‘Can you depend upon his promptitude?’ 

“ ‘ He’ll leave in half an hour.’ 

“ So you see, O’Malley, I have already pledged myself for you ; 
and now I must say adieu : the regiments are about to take up a 
more advanced position; so good-bye. I hope you’ll have a 
pleasant time of it till we meet again.” 

“ It is now twelve o’clock, Mr. O’Malley,” said Beaumont : 
“we may rely upon your immediate departure. Your written 
instructions and despatches will he here within a quarter of an 
hour.” 

I muttered something — what, I cannot remember ; I bowed my 
thanks to my worthy colonel, shook his hand warmly, and saw 
him ride down the hill, and disappear in the crowd of soldiery 
beneath, before I could recall my faculties, and think over my 
situation. 

Then, all at once, did the full difficulty of my position break 
suddenly upon me. If I accepted my present employment, I must 
certainly fail in my engagement to Trevyllian : but I had already 
pledged myself to its acceptance. What was to be done ? No 
time was left for deliberation. The very minutes I should have 
spent in preparation were fast passing. Would that Power might 
appear. Alas ! he came not. My state of doubt and uncertainty 
increased every moment. I saw nothing but ruin before me, even 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


297 


at a moment when fortune promised most fairly for tlie future, and 
opened a field of enterprise my heart had so often and so ardently 
desired. Nothing was left me but to hasten to Colonel Merivale 
and decline my appointment : to do so, was to prejudice my 
character in his estimation forever ; for I dared not allege my 
reasons, and, in all probability, my conduct might require my 
leaving the army. 

Be it so, then,^’ said I, in an accent of despair ; “ the die 
is cast.’’ 

I ordered my horse round. I wrote a few words to Power, to 
explain my absence, should he come while I was away, and 
leaped into the saddle. As I reached the plain my pace became 
a gallop, and I pressed my horse with all the impatience my heart 
was burning with. I dashed along the lines towards Oporto, 
neither hearing nor seeing aught around me, when suddenly the 
clank of cavalry accoutrements behind induced me to turn my 
head, and I perceived an orderly dragoon at full gallop, in pursuit. 
I pulled up till he came alongside. 

“ Lieutenant O’Malley, sir,” said the man, saluting, these de- 
spatches are for you.” 

I took them hurriedly, and was about to continue my route, 
when the attitude of the dragoon arrested my attention. He had 
reined in his horse to the side of the narrow causeway, and, 
holding him still and steadily, sat motionless as a statue. I looked 
behind, and saw the whole staff approaching at a brisk trot. Be- 
fore I had a moment for thought they were beside me. 

‘‘Ah! O’Malley,” cried Merivale, “you have your orders; don’t 
wait ; his Excellency is coming up.” 

“ Get along, I advise you,” said another, “ or you’ll catch it, as 
some of us have done this morning.” 

“ All is right, Charley; you can go in safety,” said a whispering 
voice, as Power passed in a sharp canter. 

That one sentence was enough ; my heart bounded like a deer, 
my cheek beamed with the glow of delighted pleasure, I closed my 
spur upon my gallant gray, and dashed across the plain. 

When I arrived at my quarters the men were drawn up in 
waiting, and provided with rations for three days’ march ; Mike 
was also prepared for the road, and nothing more remained to 
delay me. 

“ Captain Power has been here, sir, and left a note.” 

I took it and thrust it hastily into my sabertashe. I knew from 
the few words he had spoken, that my present step involved me in 
no ill consequences ; so, giving the word to wheel into column, I 
rode to the front, and set out upon my march to Alcantara. 


S8 


298 


CHARLES O'MALLEY, 


CHAPTER L. 

THE WATCH-FIRE. 

There are few things so inspiriting to a young soldier, as the 
being employed with a separate command : the picket and out-post 
duty have a charm for him no other portion of his career possesses. 
The field seems open for individual boldness and heroism : success, 
if obtained, must redound to his own credit ; and what can equal, 
in spirit-stirring enthusiasm, that first moment when we become in 
any way the arbiter of our fortunes ? 

Such were my happy thoughts, as, with a proud and elated 
heart, I set forth upon my march. The notice the commander-in- 
chief had bestowed upon me had already done much: it had raised 
me in my own estimation, and implanted within me a longing 
desire for further distinction. I thought, too, of those far, far away, 
who were yet to hear of my successes. 

I fancied to myself how they would severally receive the news. 
My poor uncle, with tearful eye and quivering lip, was before me, 
as I saw him read the despatch, then wipe his glasses, and read 
on, till at last, with one long-drawn breath his manly voice, 
tremulous with emotion, would break forth, — ‘‘ My hoy ! my own 
Charley!’’ Then I pictured Considine, with port erect, and stern 
features, listening silently; not a syllable, not a motion, betraying 
that he felt interested in my fate, till, as if impatient, at length, he 
would break in, — “ I knew it — I said so ; and yet you thought to 
make him a lawyer!” And then Old Sir Harry: his warm heart 
glowing with pleasure, and his good-humoured face beaming with 
happiness. How many a blunder he would make in retailing the 
news, and how many a hearty laugh his version of it would give 
rise to. 

I passed in review before me the old servants, as they lingered 
in the room to hear the story. Poor old Matthew, the butler, fum- 
bling with his corkscrew to gain a little time ; then looking in my 
uncle’s face, half entreatingly, as he asked, — Any news of Master 
Charles, sir, from the wars ?” 

While thus my mind wandered back to the scenes and faces of 
my early home, I feared to ask myself how s/ie would feel to 
whom my heart was now turning ? Too deeply did I know how 
poor my chances were in that quarter to nourish hope, and yet I 
could not bring myself to abandon it altogether. Hammersly’s 
strange conduct suggested to me that he, at least, could not he my 
.rival, while I plainly perceived that he regarded me as /lis. There 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


299 


was a mystery in all this I could not fathom, and I ardently longed 
for my next meeting with Power, to learn the nature of his inter- 
view, and also in what manner the affair had been arranged. 

Such were my passing thoughts as I pressed forward. My men, 
picked no less for themselves than their horses, came rapidly 
along ; and ere evening, we had accomplished twelve leagues of 
our journey. 

The country through which we journeyed, though wild and 
romantic in its character, was singularly rich and fertile, — cultiva- 
tion reaching to the very summits of the rugged mountains, and 
patches of wheat and Indian corn peeping amid masses of granite 
rock and tangled brushwood : the vine and the olive grew wild on 
every side ; while the orange and the arbutus, loading the air with 
perfume, were mingled with prickly-pear trees and variegated 
hollies. We followed no regular track, but cantered along over 
hill and valley, through forest and prairie : now m long file through 
some tall field of waving corn, now in open order upon some level 
plain ; our Portuguese guide riding a little in advance of us, upon 
a jet-black mule, carolling merrily some wild Gallician melody as 
he went. 

As the sun was setting, we arrived beside a little stream, that, 
flowing along a rocky bed, skirted a vast forest of tall cork trees. 
Here we called a halt ; and, picketing our horses, proceed ^d to 
make our arrangements for a bivouac. 

Never do I remember a more lovely night : the watch-fires sent 
up a delicious odour from the perfumed shrubs ; while the glassy 
water reflected on its still surface the starry sky that, unshadowed 
and unclouded, stretched above us. I wrapped myself in my 
trooper’s mantle, and lay down beneath a tree, — ^but not to sleep : 
there was a something so exciting, and withal so tranquillizing, that 
I had no thought of slumber, but fell into a musing re very. There 
Avas a character of adventure in my position that charmed me 
much. My men were gathered in little groups beside the fires ; 
some sunk in slumber, others sat smoking silently, or chatting, in a 
low and undertone, of some bygone scene of battle or bivouac ; 
here and there were picketed the horses ; the heavy panoply and 
piled carbines flickering in the red glare of the watch-fires, which 
ever and anon threw a flitting glow upon the stern and swarthy 
faces of my bold troopers. Upon the trees around, sabres and hel- 
mets, h Dlsters and cross-belts, were hung like armorial bearings in 
some antique hall, the dark foliage spreading its heavy shadow 
around us. Farther off, upon a little rocky ledge, the erect figure 
of the sentry, with his short carbine resting in the hollow of his 
arm, was seen sloAvly pacing in measured tread, or standing for a 
moment silently, as he looked upon the fair and tranquil sky, — ^his 
thoughts doubtless far, far away, beyond the sea, some humble 
home, where — 


300 


CHARLES O^MALLEY, 


“ The hum of the spreading sycamore, 

That grew beside his cottage door,” 

was again in his ears, while the merry laugh of his children stirred 
his bold heart. It was a Salvator Rosa scene, and brought me 
back in fancy to the bandit legends I had read in boyhood. By 
the uncertain light pf the wood-embers I endeavoured to sketch 
the group that lay before me. 

The night wore on. One by one the soldiers stretched them- 
selves to sleep, and all was still. As the hours rolled by, a drowsy 
feeling crept gradually over me : I placed my pistols by my side, 
and, having replenished the fire by some fresh logs, disposed my- 
self comfortably before it. 

It was during that half-dreamy state that intervenes between 
waking and sleep, that a rustling sound of the branches behind at- 
tracted my attention. The air was too calm to attribute this to the 
wind, so I listened for some minutes ; but sleep, too long deferred, 
was over-powerful, and my head sunk upon my grassy pillow, and 
I was soon sound asleep. How long I remained so I know not ; 
but I awoke suddenly. I fancied some one had shaken me rudely 
by the shoulder ; but yet all was tranquil ; my men were sleeping 
soundly as I saw them last ; the fires were becoming low, and a 
gray streak in the sky, as well as a sharp, cold feeling in the air, 
betokened the approach of day. Once more I heaped some dry 
branches together, and was about again to stretch myself to rest, 
when I felt a hand upon my shoulder. I turned quickly round, 
and, by the imperfect light of the fire, saw the figure of a man 
standing motionless beside me ; his head was bare, and his hair 
fell in long curls upon his shoulders ; one hand was pressed upon 
his bosom, and with the other he motioned me to silence. My 
first impression was that our party were surprised by some French 
patrol ; but, as I looked again, I recognised, to my amazement, that 
the individual before me was the young French officer I had seen 
that morning a prisoner beside the Douro. 

How came you here said I, in a low voice, to him in French. 

^‘Escaped: one of my own men threw himself between me and 
the sentry ; I swam the Douro, received a musket-ball through my 
arm, lost my shako, — and here I am.’’ 

You are aware you are again a prisoner?” 

^Hf you desire it, of course I am,” said he, in a voice full of 
feeling, that made my very heart creep. thought you were a 
party of Lorge’s Dragoons, scouring the country for forage ; tracked 
you the entire day, and have only now come up with you.” 

The poor fellow, who had neither eaten nor drank since day- 
break, wounded and foot-sore, had accomplished twelve leagues 
of a march, only once more to fall into the hands of his enemies. 
His years could scarcely have numbered nineteen; his counte- 
nance was singularly prepossessing; and, though bleeding and 
torn, with tattered uniform and without a covering to his head, 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


301 


there was no mistaking for a moment that he was of gentle blood. 
Noiselessly and cautiously I made him sit down beside the fire, 
while I spread before him the sparing remnant of my last night’s 
supper, and shared my solitary bottle of sherry with him. 

From the moment he spoke, I never entertained a thought of 
making him a prisoner ; but, as I knew not how far I was culpa- 
ble in permitting, if not actually facilitating, his escape, I resolved 
to keep the circumstance a secret from my party, and, if possible, 
get him away before daybreak. 

No sooner did he learn my intentions regarding him, than in an 
instant all memory of his past misfortune, all thoughts of his pre- 
sent destitute condition, seemed to have fled ; and, while I dressed 
his wound and bound up his shattered arm, he chatted away as 
unconcernedly about the past and the future as though seated be- 
side the fire of his own bivouac, and surrounded by his own brother 
officers. 

“ You took us by surprise the other day,” said he. “ Our mar- 
shal looked for the attack from the mouth of the river: we received 
information that your ships were expected there. In any case, 
our retreat was an orderly one, and must have been effected with 
slight loss.” 

I smiled at the self-complacency of this reasoning, but did not 
contradict him. 

“ Your loss must indeed have been great : your men crossed un- 
der the fire of a whole battery.” 

“ Not exactly,” said I ; our first party were quietly stationed 
in Oporto before you knew any thing about it.” . 

! sacre Dieu ! Treachery !” cried he, striking his forehead 
with his clenched fist. 

Not so : mere daring — nothing more. But come, tell me 
something of your own adventures. How were you taken ?” 

‘^Simply thus: — I was sent to the rear, Avith orders to the 
artillery to cut their traces, and leave the guns ; and when coming 
back my horse grew tired in the heavy ground, and I was spur- 
ring him to the utmost, when one of your heavy dragoons, an 
officer too, dashed at me, and actually rode me down, horse and 
all. I lay for some time bruised by the fall, when an infantry 
soldier, passing by, seized me by the collar, and brought me to the 
rear. No matter, however, here I am now. You will not give 
me up; and, perhaps, I may one day live to repay the kind- 
ness.” 

You have not long joined.” 

“ It was my first battle ; my epaulettes were very smart things 
yesterday, though they do look a little passees to-day. You are 
advancing, I suppose ?” 

I smiled, without answering this question. 

“ Ah, I see, you don’t wish to speak ; never mind, your dis- 
cretion is throAvn away upon me ; for, if I rejoined my regiment 

2 C 


302 


CHARLES o’MALLEr, 


to-morrow, I should have forgotten all you told me, — all but your 
great kindness.’’ These last words he spoke, bowing slightly his 
head, and colouring as he said them. 

‘‘ You are a dragoon, I think ?” said I, endeavouring to change 
the topic. 

“ I was, two days ago, chasseur h cheval, a sous-lieutenant in 
the regiment of my father, the General St. Croix.” 

“ The name is familiar to me,” I replied ; and I am sincerely 
happy to be in a position to serve the son of so distinguished an 
officer.” 

The son of so distinguished an officer is most deeply obliged ; 
but wishes with all his heart and soul he had never sought glory 
imder such very excellent auspices. 

“ You look surprised, mon cher ; but, let me tell you, my mili- 
tary ardour is considerably abated in the last three days ; hunger, 
thirst, imprisonment, and this,” lifting his wounded limb as he 
spoke, “ are sharp lessons in so short a campaign, and for one, 
too, whose life hitherto had much more of ease than adventure to 
boast of. Shall I tell you how I became a soldier ?” 

“ By all means ; give me your glass first ; and now for a fresh 
log to the fire ; I’m your man.” 

‘‘ But stay, before I begin, look to this.” 

The blood was flowing rapidly from his wound, which, with 
some difficulty, I succeeded in stanching. He drank off his wine 
hastily, held out his glass to be refilled, and then began his 
story. 

‘‘ You have never seen the Emperor ?” 

Never.” 

‘‘ Sucre bleu ! What a man he is ! I’d rather stand und4r the 
fire of your grenadiers than meet his eye. When in a passion, 
he does not say much, it is true ; but what he does, comes with 
a kind of hissing, rushing sound, while the very fire seems to 
kindle in his look. I have him before me this instant, and, though 
you will confess that my present condition has nothing very pleas- 
ing in it, I should be sorry, indeed, to change it for the last time I 
stood in his presence. 

‘‘ Two months ago, I sported the gay light blue and silver of 
a page to the Emperor, and certainly, what with balls, bonbons, 
flirtation, gossip, and champagr)e suppers, led a very gay, reckless, 
and indolent life of it. Somehow — I may tell you more accu- 
rately at another period, if we ever meet — I got myself into dis- 
grace, and, as a punishment, was ordered to absent myself from 
the Tuileries, and retire, for some weeks, to St. Cloud. Siberia, 
to a Russian, would scarcely be a heavier infliction than was this 
banishment to me. There was no court, no levee, no military 
parade, no ball, no opera. A small household of the Emperor’s 
chosen servants quietly kept house there. The gloomy walls 
re-echoed to no music ; the dark alleys of the dreary garden 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


303 


seemed the very impersonation of solitude and decay. Nothing 
broke the dull monotony of the tiresome day, except ’when, occa- 
sionally, near sunset, the clash of the guard would be heard turn- 
ing out, and the clank of presenting arms, followed by the roll of 
a heavy carriage into the gloomy court-yard. One lamp, shining 
like a star, in a small chamber on the second floor, would remain 
till near four, sometimes five o’clock, in the morning. The same 
sounds of the guard and the same dull roll of the carriage would 
break the stillness of the early morning ; and the Emperor — for 
it was he — would be on his road back to Paris. 

“We never saw him : I say we ; for, like myself, some half- 
dozen others were also there, expiating their follies by a life of 
cheerless ennui. 

“ It was, upon a calm evening in April, we sat together chatting 
over the various misdeeds which had consigned us to exile, when 
some one proposed, by way of passing the time, that we should 
visit the small flower-garden that was parted off from the rest, 
and reserved for the Emperor alone. It was already beyond the 
hour he usually came : besides that, even should he arrive, there 
was abundant time to get back before he could possibly reach it. 
The garden we had often seen, but there was something in the 
fact that our going there was a transgression that so pleased us 
all, that we agreed at once, and set forth. For above an hour we 
loitered about the lonely and deserted walks, where already the 
Emperor’s foot-tracks had worn a marked pathway, when we grew 
weary, and were about to return, just as one of the party sug- 
gested, half in ridicule of the sanctity of the spot, that we should 
have a game of leap-frog ere we left it. The idea pleased us, 
and was at once adopted. Our plan was this: each person sta- 
tioned himself in some by-walk or alley, and waited till the other, 
whose turn it was, came and leaped over him ; so that, besides 
the activity displayed, there was a knowledge of the local neces- 
sary ; for, to any one passed over, a forfeit was to be paid. Our 
game began at once, and certainly I doubt if ever those green 
alleys and shady groves rang to such hearty laughter. Here 
would be seen a couple rolling over together on the grass ; there 
some luckless wight counting out his pocket money, to pay his 
penalty. The hours passed quietly over, and the moon rose, and 
at last it came to my turn to make the tour of the garden. As 
I was supposed to know all its intricacies better than the rest, 
a longer time was given for them to conceal themselves; at length 
the word was given, and I started. 

“ Anxious to acquit myself well, I hurried along at top speed, 
but guess my surprise to discover that nowhere could I find one 
of my companions; down one walk I scampered, up another, across 
a third, but all was still and silent; not a sound, not a breath, could 
1 detect; there was still one part of the garden unexplored. It was 
a small open space before a little pond, which usually contained 


304 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


the gold fish the Emperor was so fond of: thither I bent my steps, 
and had not gone far when, in the pale moonlight, I saw, at length, 
one of my companions waiting patiently for my coming ; his head 
bent forward, and his shoulders rounded. Anxious to repay him 
for my own disappointment, I crept silently forward at tiptoe, till 
quite near, when, rushing madly on, I sprung upon his back ; just, 
however, as I rose to leap over, he raised his head, and staggered 
by the impulse of my spring, he was throAvn forward, and, after an 
ineffectual effort to keep his legs, fell flat upon his face in the grass. 
Bursting with laughter, I fell over him on the ground, and was 
turning to assist him, when suddenly he sprang upon his feet, and 
— horror of horrors — it was Napoleon himself; his usually pale 
features were purple with rage ; but not a word, not a syllable 
escaped him. 

^ Qui etes vous said he at length. 

“ ^ St. Croix, sire,’ said I, still kneeling before him, while my 
very heart leaped into my mouth. 

“ ‘ St. Croix ! toujours St. Croix. Come here ; approach me,’ 
cried he, in a voice of stifled passion. 

I rose, but before I could take a step forward, he sprang at me, 
and, tearing off my epaulettes, trampled them beneath his feet, and 
then he shouted out, rather than spoke, the one word ^ allez.^ 

“ I did not wait for a second intimation, but clearing the pal- 
ing at a spring, was many a mile from Fontainbleau before day- 
break.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


305 


CHAPTER LI. 

THE MARCH. 

Twice the reveillez sounded ; the horses champed impatiently 
their heavy bits ; my men stood waiting for the order to mount, 
ere I could arouse myself from the deep sleep I had fallen into 
The young Frenchman and his story were in my dreams, and, 
when I awoke, his figure, as he lay sleeping beside the wood- 
embers, was the first object I perceived. There he lay, to all 
seeming, as forgetful of his fate as though he still inhabited the 
gorgeous halls and gilded saloons of the Tuileries ; his pale and 
handsome features wore even a placid smile as, doubtless, some 
dream of other days flitted across him ; his long hair waved in 
luxurious curls upon his neck, and his light brown moustache, 
slightly curled at the top, gave to his mild and youthful features an 
air of saucy Jierte that heightened their effect. A narrow blue 
riband which he wore round his throat, gently peeped from his 
open bosom. I could not resist the curiosity I felt to see what it 
meant, and, drawing it softly forth, I perceived that a small minia- 
ture was attached to it. It was beautifully painted, and surrounded 
with brilliants of some value. One glance showed me — for I had 
seen more than one engraving before of her — that it was the portrait 
of the Empress Josephine. Poor boy ! he doubtless was a favourite 
at court ; indeed, every thing in his air and manner bespoke him 
such. I gently replaced the precious locket, and turned from the 
spot, to think over what was best to be done for him. Knowing 
the vindictive feeling of the Portuguese towards their invaders, I 
feared to take Pietro, our guide, into my confidence. I accordingly 
summoned my man Mike to my aid, who, with all his country’s 
readiness, soon found out an expedient. It was to pretend to Pietro 
that the prisoner was merely an English officer, who had made his 
escape from the French army, in which, against his will, he had 
been serving for some time. 

This plan succeeded perfectly ; and, when St. Croix, mounted 
upon one of my led horses, set out upon his march beside me, none 
was more profuse of his attentions than the dark-browed guide, 
whose hatred of a Frenchman was beyond belief. 

By thus giving him safe conduct through Portugal, I knew that 
when we reached the frontier, he could easily manage to come up 
39 2 c 2 


306 


CHARLES o’mALLEY 


with some part of Marshal Victor’s force, the advanced guard of 
which lay on the left bank of the Tagus. 

To me the companionship was the greatest boon ; the gay and 
buoyant spirit that no reverse of fortune, no untoward event, could 
subdue, lightened many an hour of the journey ; and though, at 
times, the gasconade tone of the Frenchman would peep through, 
there was still such a fund of good-tempered raillery in all he said, 
that it was impossible to feel angry with him. His implicit faith 
in the Emperor’s invincibility also amused me. Of the unbounded 
confidence of the nation in general, and the army in particular, in 
Napoleon, I had till then no conception. It was not that in the 
profound skill and immense resources of the general they trusted ; 
but they actually regarded him as one placed above all the com- 
mon accidents of fortune, and revered him as something more than 
human. 

II viendra et puis — ” was the continued exclamation of the 
young Frenchman. Any notion of our successfully resisting the 
overwhelming might of the Emperor, he would have laughed to 
scorn ; and so I let him go on prophesying our future misfortunes 
till the time, when, driven back upon Lisbon, we should be com- 
pelled to evacuate the Peninsula, and, under favour of a convention, 
be permitted to return to England. All this was sufficiently 
ridiculous, coming from a youth of nineteen, wounded, in misery, 
a prisoner ; but further experience of his nation has shown me, 
that St. Croix was not the exception, but the rule. The conviction 
in the ultimate success of their army, whatever be the merely 
momentary mishap, is the one present thought of a Frenchman ; 
a victory with them is a conquest ; a defeat — if they are by any 
chance driven to acknowledge one — a fataUte. 

I was too young a man, and still more, too young a soldier, to 
bear with this absurd aflectation of superiority as I ought, and, 
consequently was glad to wander, whenever I could, from the 
contested point of our national superiority to other topics. St. 
Croix, although young, had seen much of the world, as a page in 
the splendid court of the Tuileries ; the scenes passing before his 
eyes were calculated to make a strong impression ; and, by many 
an anecdote of his former life, he lightened the road as we passed 
along. 

‘‘ You promised, by-the-bye, to tell me of your banishment. How 
did that occur, St. Croix ?” 

! par Dieu, that was an unfortunate affair for me : then 
began all my mishaps ; but for that, I should never have been 
sent to St. Cloud ; never have played leap-frog with the Emperor ; 
never have been sent a soldier into Spain. True,” said he, 
laughing, “I should never have had the happiness of your 
acquaintance. But still. I’d much rather have met you first in the 
Place des Vjctoires than in the Estrella Mountains.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


307 


Who knows ?” said I : " Perhaps, your good genius prevailed 
in all this?’’ 

« Perhaps,” said he, interrupting me, “ that’s exactly what the 
Empress said — she was my god-mother — ‘ Jules will be a Marh- 
chal de France yet.’ But, certainly, it must be confessed, I have 
made a bad beginning. However, you wish to hear of my dis- 
grace at court. Allans done. But had we not better wait for a 
halt ?” 

‘ Agreed,” said I ; and so let us now press forward.” 


308 


CHARLES o’mALLET, 


CHAPTER LII. 

THE PAGE. 

Under the deep shade of some tall trees, sheltered from the 
noonday sun, we lay down to rest ourselves, and enjoy a most 
patriarchal dinner — some dry biscuits, a few bunches of grapes, 
and a little weak wine, savouring more of the borachio-skin than 
the vine-juice, were all we boasted : yet they were not ungrateful 
at such a time and place. 

Whose health did you pledge, then inquired St. Croix, with 
a half malicious smile, as I raised the glass silently to my lips. 

I blushed deeply, and looked confused. 

“ Ji ses beaux yeux, whoever she be,^’ said he, gayly tossing off 
his wine : ‘‘ and now, if you feel disposed, Pll tell you my story. 
In good truth, it is not worth relating, but it may serve to set you 
asleep, at all events.’^ 

I have already told you I was a page. Alas, the impressions 
you may feel of that functionary, from having seen Cherubino, 
give but a faint notion of him when pertaining to the household of 
the Emperor Napoleon. 

“ The farfallone amoroso basked in the soft smiles and sunny 
looks of the Countess Alma viva : we met but the cold impassive 
look of Talleyrand, the piercing and penetrating stare of Savary, 
or the ambiguous smile, half-menace, .half-mockery, of Monsieur 
Fouche. While on service, our days were passed in the ante- 
chamber, beside the salle d* audience of the Emperor — reclining 
against the closed door, watching attentively for the gentle 'tinkle 
of the little bell which summoned us to open for the exit of some 
haughty diplomate, or the entree of some redoubted general. Thus 
passed we the weary hours ; the illustrious visitors by whom we 
were surrounded had no novelty, consequently no attraction for 
us, and the names already historical were but household words 
with us. 

We often remarked, too, the proud and distant bearing the 
Emperor assumed towards those of his generals who had been his 
former companions in arms. Whatever familiarity or freedom may 
have existed in the campaign or in the battle field, the air of the 
Tuileries certainly chilled it. I have often heard that the ceremo- 
nious observances and rigid etiquette of the old Bourbon court 
were far preferable to the stern reserve and unbending stiffness of 
the imperial one. 

« The antechamber is but the reflection of the reception-room • 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


309 


and, whatever he the whims, the caprices, the littleness of the 
Great Man, they are speedly assumed by his inferiors, and the 
dark temper of one casts a lowering shadow on every menial by 
whom he is surrounded. 

‘‘ As for us, we were certainly not long in catching somewhat 
of the spirit of the Emperor ; and I doubt much if the impertinence 
of the waiting-room was not more dreaded and detested than the 
abrupt speech and searching look of Napoleon himself. 

“ What a malicious pleasure have I not felt in arresting the step 
of M. de Talleyrand, as he approached the Emperor’s closet ! with 
what easy insolence have I lisped out, ‘ Pardon, Monsieur, but his 
Majesty cannot receive you’ — or, ‘ Monsieur le Due, his majesty 
has given no orders for your admission.’ — How amusing it was to 
watch the baffled look of each, as he retired once more to his place 
among the crowd ; the wily diplomate covering his chagrin with a 
practised smile, while the stern marshal would blush to his very 
eyes with indignation. This was the great pleasure our position 
afforded us ; and, with a boyish spirit of mischief, we cultivated it 
to perfection, and became at last the very horror and detestation of 
all who frequented the levees ; and the ambassador, whose fearless 
voice was heard among the councils of kings, became soft and con- 
ciliating in his approaches to us ; and the hardy general, who would 
have charged upon a brigade of artillery, was timid as a girl in 
addressing us a mere question. 

‘‘Among the amiable class thus characterized, I was most con- 
spicuous, preserving cautiously a tone of civility that left nothing 
openly to complain of. I assumed an indifference and impartiality 
of manner that no exigency of affairs, no pressing haste, could dis- 
compose or disturb, and my bow of recognition to Soult or Mas- 
sena was as coolly measured, as my monosyllabic answer was 
accurately conned over. 

“ Upon ordinary occasions, the Emperor, at the close of each 
person’s audience, rang his little bell for the admission of the next 
in order as they arrived in the waiting-room ; yet, when any thing 
important was under consideration, a list was given us in the morn- 
ing of the names to be presented in rotation, which no casual cir- 
cumstance was ever suffered to interfere with. 

“ It is now about four months since, one fine morning, such a 
list was placed within my hands. His Majesty was just then oc- 
cupied with an inquiry into the naval force of the kingdom ; and, 
as I cast my eyes carelessly over the names, I read little else than 
Vice-admiral so and so, Commander such a one, and Chief d’Esca- 
dron such another, and the levee presented accordingly, instead of 
its usual brilliant array of gorgeous uniform and aiguiletted mar- 
shals, the simple blue-and-gold of the naval service. 

“ The marine was not in high favour with the Emperor, and, 
truly, my reception of these unfrequent visitors was any thing but 
flattering. The early part of the morning was, as usual, occupied 


310 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


by the audience of the Minister of Police and the Due de Bassano, 
who, evidently, from the length of time they remained, had matters 
of importance to communicate. Meanwhile, the ante-chamber filled 
rapidly, and, before noon, was actually crowded. It was just at 
this moment that the folding-door slowly opened, and a figure en- 
tered, such as I had never before seen in our brilliant saloon: he 
was a man of five or six-and-fifty, short, thickset, and strongly 
built, with a bronzed and weather-beaten face, and a broad open 
forehead, deeply scarred with a sabre-cut ; a shaggy gray moustache 
curled over, and concealed his mouth, while eyebrows of the same 
colour shaded his dark and piercing eyes. His dress was a coarse 
coat of blue cloth, such as the fishermen wear in Bretagny, fastened 
at the waist by a broad belt of black leather, from which hung a 
short broad-bladed cutlass : his loose trousers, of the same mate- 
rial, were turned up at the ankles, to show a pair of strong legs 
coarsely cased in blue stockings and thin-soled shoes — a broad- 
leaved oil-skin hat was held in one hand, and the other stuck care- 
lessly in his pocket, as he entered ; he came in with a careless air, 
and, familiarly saluting one or two officers in the room, he sat him- 
self down near the door, appearing lost in his own reflections. 

‘‘‘Who can you be, my worthy friend ?’ was my question to 
myself, as I surveyed this singular apparition, at the time casting my 
eyes down the list, I perceived that several pilots of the coast of 
Havre, Calais, and Boulogne, had been summoned to Paris to give 
some information upon the soundings and depth of water along the 
shore. 

“ ‘ Ha,’ thought I, ‘ I have it — ^the good-man has mistaken his 
place, and instead of remaining without, has walked boldly forward 
to the ante-chamber.’ There was something so strange and so 
original in the grim look of the old fellow, as he sat there alone, 
that I suffered him to remain quietly in his delusion, rather than 
order him back to the waiting-room without ; besides, I perceived 
that a kind of sensation was created among the others by his ap- 
pearance there, which amused me greatly. 

“ As the day wore on, the officers formed into little groups of 
three or four, chatting together in an undertone of voice ; all, save 
the old pilot ; he had taken a huge tobacco-box from his capacious 
breast pocket, and inserting an immense piece of the bitter weed in 
his mouth, began to chew it as leisurely as though he were walk- 
ing the quarter-deck. The cool insouciance of such a proceeding 
amused me much, and I resolved to draw him out a little. 

“ His strong, broad Breton features, his deep voice, his dry, blunt 
manner, were all in admirable keeping with his exterior, and 
amused me highly. 

“‘Par Bieu, my lad,’ said he, after chatting some time, ‘had 
you not better tell the Emperor that I am waiting ? — It’s now past 
noon, and I must eat something.’ 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


311 


Have a little patience/ said I ; ‘his Majesty is going to invite 
you to dinner.’ 

“ ‘Be it so / said he, gravely, ‘provided the hour be an early one. 
Pm his man.’ 

“With difficulty did I keep down my laughter, as he said this, 
and continued — 

“ ‘So you know the Emperor already, it seems?’ 

“ ‘ Yes, that I do ! I remember him when he was no higher than 
yourself.’ 

“‘How delighted he’ll be to find you here : I hope you have 
brought up some of your family with you, as the Emperor would 
be so flattered by it ?’ 

“ ‘No, Pve left them at home ; this place don’t suit us over well. 
We have plenty to do besides spending our time and money 
among all you fine folks here, — ’ 

“ ‘ And not a bad life of it either,’ added I, ‘ fishing for cod and 
herrings — stripping a wreck now and then.’ 

“ He stared at me, as I said this, like a tiger on the spring, but 
spoke not a word. 

“ ‘ And how many young sea-wolves may you have in your 
den at home ?’ 

“ ‘ Six ; and all of them able to carry you with one hand, at 
arm’s length !’ 

“ ‘ I have no doubt : I shall certainly not test their ability. But 
you, yourself, how do you like the Capital ?’ 

“ ‘ Not over well, and Pll tell you why’ — 

“ As he said this, the door of the audience-chamber opened, and 
the Emperor appeared : his eyes flashed fire, as he looked hur- 
riedly around the room. 

“ ‘ Who is in waiting here ?’ 

“ ‘ I am, please your Majesty,’ said I ; bowing deeply, as I 
started from my seat. 

“ ‘ And where is the Admiral Truguet ? Why was he not ad- 
mitted ?’ 

“ ‘Not present, your Majesty,’ said I, trembling with fear. 

“ ‘ Hold there, young fellow : not so fast ; here he is.’ 

“ ‘ Ah, Truguet, mon ami P cried the Emperor, placing both 
hands on the old fellow’s shoulders; ‘how long have you been 
in waiting ?’ 

“ ‘ Two hours and a half,’ said he ; producing in evidence a 
watch like a saucer. 

“ What ! two hours and a half, and I not know it !’ 

“ ‘ No matter : I am always happy to serve your Majesty. But 
if that fine fellow had not told me that you were going to ask me 
to dinner ’ 

“ ‘ He ! he said so ; did he ?’ said Napoleon, turning on me a 
glance like a wild beast. ‘ Yes, Truguet, so I am: you shall dine 
with me to-day. And you, sir,’ said he, dropping his voice to a 


312 


CHARLES o’MALLEir, 


whisper, as he came closer towards me, ‘ and you have dared to 
speak thus ? Call in a guard there ; Capitaine, put this person under 
arrest ; he is disgraced : he is no longer page of the palace. Out 
of my presence ! away, sir !’ 

“ The room wheeled round ; my legs tottered, my senses reeled ; 
and I saw no more. 

“ Three weeks’ bread and water in St. Pelagie, however, brought 
me to my recollection ; and at last my kind — my more than 
kind friend, the Empress, obtained my pardon, and sent me to St. 
Cloud, till the Emperor should forget all about it. How I con- 
trived again to refresh his memory I have already told you } and 
certainly you will acknowledge that I have not been fortunate in 
my interviews with Napoleon.” 

I am conscious how much St. Croix’s story loses in my telling. 
The naives expressions, the grace of the narrative, were its 
charm ; and these, alas ! I can neither translate nor imitate, no 
more than I can convey the strange mixture of deep feeling and 
levity, shrewdness and simplicity, that constituted the manner of 
the narrator. 

With many a story of his courtly career he amused me as we 
trotted along ; when, towards nightfall of the third day, a peasant 
informed us that a body of French cavalry occupied the convent of 
San Cristoval, about three leagues off. The opportunity of his 
return to his own army pleased him far less than I expected ; he 
heard without any show of satisfaction that the time of his libera- 
tion had arrived, and when the moment of leave-taking drew near, 
he became deeply affected. 

Eh bien, Charles,” said he, smiling sadly through his dimmed 
and tearful eyes. ‘‘ You’ve been a kind friend to me. Is the time 
never to come when I can repay you ?” 

“Yes, yes: we’ll meet again, be assured of it. Meanwhile, 
there is one way you can more than repay any thing I have done 
for you.” 

“ Oh ! name it at once.” f 

“ Many a brave fellow of ours is now, and doubtless many more 
will be, prisoners with your army in this war. Whenever, there- 
fore, your lot brings you in contact with such ” 

“ They shall be my brothers,” said he, springing towards me, 
and throwing his arms round my neck. “ Adieu, adieu !” With 
that he rushed from the spot, and, before I could speak again, was 
mounted upon the peasant’s horse, and waving his hand to me in 
farewell. 

I looked after him as he rode at a fast gallop down the slope of 
the green mountain, the noise of the horse’s feet echoing along 
the silent plain. I turned at length to leave the spot, and then 
perceived, for the first time, that, when taking his farewell of me, 
he had hung around my neck his miniature of the Empress. Poor 
boy ! how sorrowful I felt thus to rob him of what he held so 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


313 


dear! how gladly would I have overtaken him to restore it! 
It was the only keepsake he possessed, and knowing that I would 
not accept it, if offered, he took this way of compelling me to 
keep it. 

Through the long hours of the summer’s night I thought of him; i 
and, when, at last, I slept, towards morning, my first thought on ' 
waking was of the solitary day before me. The miles no longer 
slipped imperceptibly along; no longer did the noon and night 
seem fast to follow. Alas ! that one should grow old ! the very 
sorrows of our early years have something soft and touching in 
them. Arising less from deep wrong than slight mischances ; the 
grief they cause comes ever with an alloy of pleasant thoughts, 
telling of the tender past ; and, mid the tears called up, forming 
some bright rainbow of future hope. 

Poor St. Croix had already won greatly upon me ; and I felt 
lonely and desolate when he departed. 


2J) 


40 


Sli 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


CHAPTER LIII. 

ALVAS. 

Nothing of incident marked our further progress towards the 
frontiers of Spain, and at length we* reached the small town of 
Alvas. It was past sunset as we arrived; and, instead of the 
usual quiet and repose of a little village, we found the streets 
crowded with people on horseback and on foot : mules, bullocks, 
carts, and wagons, blocked up the way, and the oaths of 
the drivers, and the screaming of women and children resounded 
on all sides. 

With what little Spanish I possessed, I questioned some of 
those near me, and learned, in reply, that a dreadful engagement 
had taken place that day between the advanced guard of the 
French, under Victor, and the Lusitanian legion ; that the Portu- 
guese troops had been beaten and completely routed, losing all 
their artillery and baggage ; that the French were rapidly advanc- 
ing, and expected hourly to arrive at Alvas ; in consequence of 
which, the terror-stricken inhabitants were packing up their pos- 
sessions, and hurrying away. 

Here, then, was a point of considerable difficulty for me 
at once. My instructions had never provided for such a con- 
juncture, and I was totally unable to determine what was best to 
be done. Both my men and their horses were completely tired 
by a march of fourteen leagues, and had a pressing need of 
some rest. On every side of me, the preparations for flight were 
proceeding with all the speed that fear inspires; and, to my 
urgent request for some information as to food and shelter, I 
could obtain no other reply than muttered menaces of the fate 
before me if I remained, and exaggerated accounts of French 
cruelty. 

Amid all this bustle and confusion, a tremendous fall of h^avy 
rain set in, which at once determined me, come what might, to 
house my party, and provide forage for our horses. 

As we pushed our way slowly through the encumbered streets, 
looking on every side for some appearance of a village inn, a tre- 
mendous shout rose in our rear, and a rush of the people towards 
us induced us to suppose that the French were upon us. For some 
minutes, the din and uproar were terrific — the clatter of horses’ 
feet, the braying of trumpets, the yelling of the mob, all mingling 
in one frightful concert. 

I formed my men in close column, and waited steadily for 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


315 


the attack, resolving, if possible, to charge through the advancing 
files ; any retreat through the crowded and blocked-up thorough- 
fares being totally out of the question. The rain was falling 
in such torrents, that nothing could be seen a few yards off; 
when, suddenly, a pause of a few seconds occurred, and, from the 
clash of accoutrements, and the hoarse tones of a loud voice, 
I judged that the body of men before us were forming for 
attack. 

Resolving, therefore, to take them by surprise, I gave the word 
to charge; and, spurring our jaded cattle, onward we dashed. 
The mob fled right and left from us as we came on ; ahd through 
the dense mist, we could just perceive a body of cavalry be- 
fore us. 

In an instant we were among them; down they went on 
every side, men and horses rolling pell-mell over each other, — 
not a blow, not a shot striking us as we pressed on. Never 
did I witness such total consternation : some threw themselves 
from their horses, and fled towards the house ; others turned, 
and tried to fall back; but the increasing pressure from behind 
held them, and finally succeeded in blocking us up amongst 
them. 

It was just at this critical moment that a sudden gleam of 
light from a window fell upon the disordered mass, and to 
my astonishment — I need not say to my delight — I perceived 
that they were Portuguese troops. Before I had well time 
to halt my party, my convictions were pretty well strength- 
ened by hearing a well known voice in the rear of the mass call 
out — 

Charge, ye devils ! charge, will ye ? illustrious hidalgos ; cut 
them down; los injidelos, sacrijicados los : scatter them like 
chaff.’’ 

One roar of laughter was my only answer to this energetic ap- 
peal for my destruction ; and the moment after, the dry features 
and pleasant face of old Monsoon beamed on me by the light of a 
pine torch he carried in his right-hand. 

“ Are they prisoners ? have they surrendered,” inquired he, rid- 
ing up. 

It was well for them ; we’d have made mince meat of them 
otherwise : now they shall be well treated, and ransomed if they 
prefer.” 

Gracios excellenze;^’ said I, in a feigned voice. 

Give up your sword,” said the major, in an under tone. You 
behaved gallantly, but you fought against invincibles. Lord love 
them, but they are the most terrified invincibles.” 

I nearly burst aloud at this. 

It was a close thing which of us ran first,” muttered the major, 
as he turned to give some directions to an aid-de-camp. ‘‘ Ask 
them who they are,” said he, in Spanish. 


316 


CHARLES o’MALLEr, 


By this time, I came closely alongside of him ; and, placing my 
mouth close to his ear, hallooed out 

‘‘ Monsoon, old fellow, how goes the King of Spain’s sherry ?” 

“ Eh, what — why — upon my life, and so it is — Charley, my boy, 
so it’s you, is it ; egad, how good, and we were so near being the 
death of you. — My poor fellow, how came you here?” 

A few words of explanation sufficed to inform the major why 
we were there, and still more, to comfort him with the assurance 
that he had not been charging the general’s staff, and the com- 
mander-in-chief himself. 

“ Upon my life, you gave me a great start ; though, as long as I 
thought you were French, it was very well.” 

“ True, Major ; but certainly the invincibles were merciful as 
they were strong.” 

“They were tired, Charley, nothing more; why, lad, we’ve 
been fighting since daybreak ; beat Victor at six o’clock ; drove 
him back behind the Tagus ; took a cold dinner, and had at him 
again in the afternoon. Lord love you, we’ve immortalized our- 
selves ; but you must never speak of this little business here ; it 
tells devilish ill for the discipline of your fellows, upon my life it 
does.” 

This was rather an original turn to give the transaction, but I 
did not oppose, and, thus chatting, we entered the little inn, where, 
confidence once restored, some semblance of comfort already ap- 
peared. 

“ And so you’re come to reinforce us,” said Monsoon ; “ there 
was never any thing more opportune ; though we surprised our- 
selves to-day with valour, I don’t think we could persevere.” 

“ Yes, Major, the appointment gave me sincere pleasure ; to see 
a little service under your orders, I greatly desired. Shall I pre- 
sent you with my despatches ?” 

“ Not now, Charley — not now, my lad. Supper is the first thing 
at this moment ; besides, now that you remind me, I must send 
ofi* a despatch myself. Upon my life, it’s a great piece of fortune 
that you’re here ; you shall be Secretary at War, and write it for 
me ; here, now — how lucky that I thought of it, to be sure ! and it 

was just a mere chance; one has so many things ” Muttering 

such broken, disjointed sentences, the major opened a large port- 
folio with writing materials, which he displayed before me ; as he 
rubbed his hands with satisfkction, and said, “ Write away, lad.” 

“ But, my dear Major, you forget; I was not in the action. You 
must describe ; I can only follow you.” 

“ Begin then thus : — 

“ ^ Head Quarters, Alvas, June 26 . 

“ ‘Your Excellency, 

“ ‘ Having learned from Don Alphonzo Xaviero da Minto, an 
officer upon my personal staff ’’ 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


317 


" Luckily sober at that moment 

" ‘ That the advanced guard of the eighth corps of the French 
army ’ 

“ Stay, though, was it the eighth ? — Upon my life. Pm not quite 
clear as to that ; blot the word a little, and go on 

“ ^ That the corps, under Marshal Victor, had commenced 

a forward movement towards Alcantara. I immediately ordered a 
flank movement of the light infantry regiment to cover the bridge 
over the Tagus. After breakfast ’ 

“ Pm afraid. Major, that is not precise enough.’’ 

“ ‘ Well, about eleven o’clock, the French skirmishers attacked, 
and drove in our pickets that were posted in front of our position, 
and following rapidly up with cavalry, they took a few prisoners, 
and killed old Alphonzo ; he ran like a man, they say, but they 
caught him in the rear ’ 

“ You needn’t put that in, if you don’t like. 

“ ‘ I now directed a charge of the cavalry brigade under Don 
Asturias Y’Hajos, that cut them up in fine style. Our artillery, 
posted on the heights, mowing away at their columns like fun. 

“ ‘ Victor didn’t like this, and got into a wood, when we all went 
to dinner : it was about two o’clock then. 

“ ‘ After dinner, the Portuguese light corps, under Silva da’Onor- 
ha, having made an attack upon the enemy’s left, without my 
orders, got devilishly well trounced, and served them right ; but, 
coming up to their assistance, with the heavy brigade of guns, and 
the cavalry, we drove back the French, and took several prisoners, 
none of whom we put to death ’ 

“Dash that — Sir Arthur likes respect for the usages of war. 
Lord, how dry Pm getting. 

“ ‘ The French were soon seen to retire to their heavy guns, and 
speedily afterwards retreated. We pursued them for some time, 
but they showed fight, and, as it was getting dark, I drew off my 
forces, and came here to supper. Your Excellency will perceive, 
by the enclosed return, that our loss has been considerable. 

“ ‘ I send this despatch by Don Emmanuel Forgales, whose ser- 
vices ’ 

“ I back him for mutton* hash with onions against the whole 
regiment 

“ ‘ Have been of a most distinguished nature, and beg to recom- 
mend him to your Excellency’s favour. 

“ < I have the honour, &c.’ ” 

“ Is it finished, Charley ? — Egad, I’m glad of it, for here comes 
supper.” 

The door opened as he spoke, and displayed a tempting tray of 
smoking viands, flanked by several bottles — an officer of the 
major’s staff accompanied it, and showed, by his attentions to the 

2d 2 


318 


CHARLES O^MALLEY, 


etiquette of the table, and the proper arrangement of the meal, 
that his functions in his superior’s household were more than 
military. 

We were speedily joined by two others in rich uniform, whose 
names I now forget, but to whom the major presented me in all 
form ; introducing me, as well as I could interpret his Spanish, as 
his most illustrious ally and friend Don Carlos O’Malley. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


319 


CHAPTER LIV. 

THE SUPPER. 

I HAVE often partaken of more luxurious cookery and rarer 
wines ; but never do I remember enjoying a more welcome supper 
than on this occasion. 

Our Portuguese guests left us soon, and the major and myself 
were once more tete H tUe beside a cheerful fire ; a well-chosen 
array of bottles guaranteeing that, for some time at least, no neces- 
sity of leave-taking should arise from any deficiency of wine. 

“ That sherry is very near the thing, Charley ; a little, a very 
little sharp ; but the after-taste perfect ; and, now, my boy, how 
have you been faring since we parted 

Not so badly. Major. I have already got a step in promotion. 
The affair at the Douro gave me a lieutenancy.’’ 

I wish you joy, with all my heart. I’ll call you captain always 
while you’re with me. Upon my life, I will. Why, man, they 
style me your Excellency here. Bless your heart ! we are great 
folk among the Portuguese ; and no bad service after all.” 

‘‘ I should think not. Major. You seem to have always made a 
good thing of it.” 

“ No, Charley ; no, my boy. They overlook us greatly in gene- 
ral orders — and despatches. Had the brilliant action of to-day 

been fought by the British but no matter ; they may behave 

well in England, after all ; and, when I’m called to the Upper 
House as Baron Monsoon of the Tagus — is that better than Lord 
Alcantara ?” 

I prefer the latter.” 

Well, then. I’ll have it. Lord ! what a treaty I’ll move for 
with Portugal, to let us have wine cheap. Wine, you know, as 
David says, gives us a pleasant countenance ; and oil — I forget 
what oil does, — pass over the decanter. And how is Sir Arthur, 
Charley ? A fine fellow, but sadly deficient in knowledge of the 
supplies. — Never would have made any character in the commis- 
sariat. — Bless your heart, he pays for every thing here, as if he 
were in Cheapside.” 

“ How absurd, to be sure !” 

‘‘Isn’t it, though; that was not my way, when I was commis- 
sary-general about a year or two ago. To be sure, how I did 
puzzle them ! They tried to audit my accounts ; and what do 
you think I did ? I brought them in three thousand pounds in my 
debt. They never tried on that game any more. ‘ No ! no !’ 


320 


CHARLES o’mALLEY. 


said the Junta, ‘ Beresford and Monsoon are great men, and must 
be treated with respect do you think we’d let them search our 
pockets? But the rogues doubled on us after all: they sent us to 
the northward, — a poor country — ” 

‘‘ So that, except a little common-place pillage of the convents 
and nunneries, you had little or nothing ?” 

“ Exactly so ; and then I got a great shock about that time, that 
affected my spirits for a considerable while.” 

“ Indeed, Major ! some illness ?” 

No, I was quite well ; but — Lord ! how thirsty it makes me 
to think of it ! my throat is absolutely parched, — I was near being 
hanged !” 

‘‘ Hanged ?” 

“ Yes. Upon my life its true — very horrible, ain’t it ? It had a 
great effect upon my nervous system ; and they never thought of 
any little pension to me, as a recompence for my sufferings.” 

“And who was barbarous enough to think of such a thing, 
Major ?” 

“ Sir Arthur Wellesley himself; none other, Charley.” 

“ Oh, it was a mistake. Major, or a joke.” 

“ It was devilish near being a practical one, though. I’ll tell 
you how it occurred. - After the battle of Vimeira, the brigade to 
which I was attached had their head-quarters at San Pietro, a large 
convent, where all the church plate for miles around was stored up 
for safety. A sergeant’s guard was accordingly stationed over the 
refectory, and every precaution taken to prevent pillage. Sir Ar- 
thur himself having given particular orders on the subject. Well, 
somehow, — I never could find out how, — but, in leaving the place, 
all the wagons of our brigade had got some trifling articles of small 
value scattered, as it might be, among their stores — gold cups, 
silver candlesticks. Virgin Marys, ivory crucifixes, saints’ eyes set 
in topazes, and martyrs’ toes in silver filagree, and a hundred 
other similar things. 

One of these confounded bullock-cars broke down just at the 
angle of the road where the commander-in-chief was standing with 
his staff to watch the troops defile, and out rolled among bread 
rations and salt beef a whole avalanche of precious relics and 
church ornaments. Every one stood aghast ! Never was there 
such a misfortune. No one endeavoured to repair the mishap ; 
but all looked on in terrified amazement as to what was to follow. 

“ ‘Who has the command of this detachment?’ shouted out Sir 
Arthur, in a voice that made more than one of us tremble. 

“ ‘ Monsoon, your excellency — Major Monsoon, of the Portu- 
guese brigade.’ 

“ ‘ The d — d old rogue ! — I know him.’ Upon my life, that’s 
what he said. ‘ Hang him up on the spot,’ pointing with his finger 
as he spoke — we shall see if this practice cannot be put a stop to.’ 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


321 


And with these words he rode leisurely away, as if he had been 
merely ordering dinner for a small party. 

“ When I came up to the place, the halberts were fixed, and 
Gronow, with a company of the fuzileers, under arms beside 
them. 

‘‘ ‘ Devilish sorry for it. Major,’ said he. ‘ It’s confoundedly un- 
pleasant; but can’t be helped. We’ve got orders to see you 
hanged!” 

“ Faith, it was just so he said it, tapping his snuff-box as he 
spoke, and looking carelessly about him. Now, had it not been 
for the fixed halberts and the provost-marshal, I’d not have 
believed him ; but one glance at them, and another at the bullock- 
cart with all the holy images, told me at once what had happened. 

‘ He only means to frighten me a little ? Isn’t that all, 
Gronow ?’ cried I, in a supplicating voice. 

“‘Very possibly. Major,’ said he; ‘but I must execute my 
orders.’ 

“ ‘You’ll surely not ’ Before I could finish, up came Dan 

Mackinnon, cantering smartly. ‘ Going to hang old Monsoon ; eh, 
Gronow? What fun !’ 

“ ‘ Ain’t it, though !’ said I, half blubbering. 

“ ‘ Well, if you’re a good Catholic, you may have your choice 
of a saint, for, by Jupiter, there’s a strong muster of them here.’ 
This cruel allusion was made in reference to the gold and silver 
effigies that lay scattered about the highway. 

“ ‘ Dan,’ said I, in a whisper, ‘ intercede for me — do, like a 
good, kind fellow. You have influence with Sir Arthur.’ 

“ ‘You old sinner,’ said he; ‘ it’s useless.’ 

“ ‘ Dan, I’ll forgive you the fifteen pounds.’ 

“ ‘That you owe said Dan, laughing. 

“‘Who’ll ever be the father to you I’ve been? Who’ll mix 
your punch with burnt Madeira, when I’m gone?’ said I. 

“ Well, really, I am sorry for you. Monsoon — I say, Gronow, 
don’t tuck him up for a few minutes ; I’ll speak for the old villain, 
and if I succeed. I’ll wave my handkerchief.” 

“ Well, away went Dan at a full gallop. Gronow sat down on 
a bank, and I fidgetted about in no very enviable frame of mind, 
the confounded provost-marshal eyeing me all the while.” 

“ ‘ I can only give you five minutes more. Major,’ said Gronow, 
placing his watch beside him on the grass: 1 tried to pray a 
little, and said three or four of Solomon’s proverbs, when he 
again called out, — ‘ There, you see it won’t do ! Sir Arthur is 
shaking his head.’ 

“ ‘ What’s that waving yonder ?’ 

“ ‘ The colours of the 6th foot. — Come, Major, off with your 
stock !’ 

“ ‘ Where is Dan now — what is he doing ?’ — for I could see 
nothing myself. 


322 


CHARLES o’MALLEr, 


“ ‘ He’s riding beside Sir Arthur ; they all seem laughing.’ 

‘‘ ‘ God forgive them ! what an awful retrospect this will prove 
to some of them.’ 

“ ‘ Time’s up,’ said Gronow, jumping up and replacing his 
watch in his pocket. 

« < Provost-marshal, be quick now’ 

‘‘ ‘ Eh ! what’s that ? — there, I see it waving ! — there’s a shout, 
too !’ 

“ ‘ Ay, by Jove, so it is ; well, you’re saved this time. Major — 
that’s the signal.’ 

“ So saying, Gronow formed his fellows in line and resumed his 
march quite coolly, leaving me alone on the road-side to meditate 
over martial law and my pernicious taste for relics. 

“ Well, Charley, this gave me a great shock, and I think, too, it 
must have had a great effect upon Sir Arthur himself ; but, upon 
my life, he has wonderful nerves ; I met him one day afterwards 
at dinner in Lisbon ; he looked at me very hard for a few seconds 
— ‘ Eh ! Monsoon ! Major Monsoon, I think ?’ 

‘‘ ‘ Yes, your excellency,’ said I briefly, thinking how painful 
it must be for him to meet me. 

“ ‘ Thought I had hanged you — ^know I intended it — no matter 
— a glass of wine with you.’ 

“ Upon my life, that was all ; how easily some people can for- 
give themselves! But, Charley, my hearty, we are getting on 
slowly with the tipple, are they all empty ? so they are ! let us 
make a sortie on the cellar ; bring a candle with you, and come 
along. 

We had scarcely proceeded a few steps from the door, when a 
most vociferous sound of mirth arising from a neighbouring apart- 
ment, arrested our progress. 

Are the Dons so convivial. Major ?” said I, as a hearty burst 
of laughter broke forth at the moment. 

Upon my life, they surprise me ; I begin to fear they have 
taken some of our wine.” 

We now perceived that the sounds of merriment came from the 
kitchen, which opened upon a little court-yard. Into this we crept 
stealthily, and approaching noiselessly to the window, obtained a 
peep at the scene within. 

Around a blazing fire, over which hung by a chain a massive 
iron pot, sat a goodly party of some half-dozen people. One group 
lay in dark shadow, but the others were brilliantly lighted up by 
the cheerful blaze, and showed us a portly Dominican friar, with 
a beard down to his waist; a buxom, dark-eyed girl of some 
eighteen years ; and between the two, most comfortably leaning 
back with an arm round each, no less a person than my trusty 
man, Mickey Free. 

It was evident, from the alternate motion of his head, that his 


THE IKISH DRAGOON. 


323 


attentions were evenly divided between the church and the fair 
sex. Although, to confess the truth, they seemed much more 
favourably received by the latter than the former — a brown earth- 
en flagon appearing to absorb all the worthy monk’s thoughts that 
he could spare from the contemplation of heavenly objects. 

‘‘ Mary, my darlin’, don’t be looking at me that way, through 
the corner of your eye ; — I know you’re fond of me — but the girls 
always was — you think I’m joking, but, troth, I wouldn’t say a lie 
before the holy man beside me; sure I wouldn’t, father?” 

The friar grunted out something in reply, not very unlike in 
sound, at least, a hearty anathema. 

Ah, then, isn’t it yourself has the illegant time of it, father 
dear,” said he, tapping him familiarly upon his ample paunch, 
‘‘and nothing to trouble you; the best of divarsion wherever you 
go, and whether its Badahos or Ballykilruddery, it’s all one ; the 
women is fond of ye. Father Murphy, the coadjutor in Scariiff, 
was just such another as yourself, and he’d coax the birds off the 
trees with the tongue of him. Give us a pull at the pipkin before 
its all gone, and I’ll give you a chant.” 

With this he seized the jar, and drained it to the bottom ; the 
smack of his lips as he concluded, and the disappointed look of 
the friar, as he peered into the vessel, throwing the others, once 
more, into a loud burst of laughter. 

“ And now, your rev’rence, a good chorus is all I’ll ask, and 
you’ll not refuse it for the honour of the church.” 

So saying, he turned a look of most droll expression upon the 
monk, and began the following ditty, to the air of 

“ St. Patrick was a gentleman.^* 

“ What an illegant life a friar leads, 

With a fat round paunch before him ; 

He mutters a prayer and counts his beads, 

And all the women adore him. 

Its little he’s troubled to work or think, 

Wherever devotion leads him : 

A ‘pater’ pays for his dinner and drink. 

For the church — good luck to her! — feeds him. 


“ From the cow in the field to the pig in the sty. 
From the maid to the lady in satin. 

They tremble, wherever he turns an eye ; 

He can talk to the devil in Latin ! 

He’s mighty severe to the ugly and ould, 

And curses like mad when he’s near ’em ; 

But one beautiful trait of him I’ve been tould. 
The innocent craytures don’t fear him. 

“ Its little for spirits or ghosts he cares; 

For ’tis true, as the world supposes. 

With an ave he’d make them march down stairs, 
Av they dared to show their noses. 


324 


CHARLES O^MALLET, 


The devil himselfs afraid, ’tis said, 

And dares not to deride him : 

For ‘ angels make each night his bed, 

And then — lie down beside him/ ” 

• A perfect burst of laughter from Monsoon prevented my hear- 
ing how Mike’s minstrelsy succeeded within doors — but, when 
I looked again, I found that the friar had decamped, leaving the 
field open to his rival — a circumstance, I could plainly perceive, 
not disliked by either party. 

Come back, Charley — that villain of yours has given me the 
cramp, standing here on the cold pavement. We’ll have a little 
warm posset — very small — ^thin, as they say in Tom Jones, and 
then to bed.” 

JNotwithstanding the abstemious intentions of the major, it was 
day-break ere we separated, and neither party in a condition for 
performing upon the tight-rope. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


325 


CHAPTER LV. 

THE LEGION. 

My services, while with the legion, were of no very distin- 
guished character, and require no lengthened chronicle. Their 
great feat of arms, the repulse of an advanced guard of Victor’s 
corps, had taken place the very morning I had joined them, and 
the ensuing month was passed in soft repose upon their lau- 
rels. 

For the first few days, indeed, a multiplicity of cares beset 
the worthy major. — There was a despatch to be written to Beres- 
ford — another to the supreme Junta — a letter to Wilson, at that 
time with a corps of 6bservation to the eastward. There were 
some wounded to be looked after — a speech to be made to the 
conquering heroes themselves — and, lastly, a few prisoners were 
taken, whose fate seemed certainly to partake of the most uncer- 
tain of war’s proverbial chances. 

The despatches gave little trouble : with some very slight altera- 
tions, the great original, already sent forward to Sir Arthur, served 
as a basis for the rest The wounded were forwarded to Alcantara, 
with a medical staff, to whom Monsoon, at parting, pleasantly 
hinted that he expected to see all the sick at their duty by an early 
day, or he would be compelled to report the doctors. The speech, 
which was intended as a kind of general order, he deferred for 
some favourable afternoon, when he could get up his Portuguese ; 
and lastly came the prisoners, by far the most difficult of all his 
cares. As for the few common soldiers taken, they gave him little 
uneasiness; as Sir John has it, they “were mortal men, and food 
for powder;” but there was a staff-officer among them, aiguiletted 
and epauletted. The very decorations he wore were no common 
temptation. Now, the major deliberated long time with himself, 
whether the usages of modern war might not admit of the ancient 
time-honoured practice of ransom. The battle, save in glory, had 
been singularly unproductive-plunder there was none — the few 
ammunition-wagons and gun-carriages were worth little or no- 
thing; so that, save the prisoners, nothing remained. It was late 
in the evening — the mellow hour of the major’s meditations — when 
he ventured to open his heart to me upon the matter. 

“I was just thinking, Charley, how very superior they were in 
olden time, to us moderns, in many matters, and nothing more than 
in their treatment of prisoners. They never took them away from 

2E 


326 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


their friends and country ; they always ransomed them — if they 
had wherewithal to pay their way. So good-natured — upon my 
life, it was a most excellent custom. They took any little valuables 
they found about them, and then put them up at auction. Moses 
and Eleazar, a priest, we are told, took every piece of gold, and 
their wrought jewels — meaning their watches and earrings. You 
needn’t laugh, they all wore earrings, those fellows did. Now, why 
shouldn’t I profit by their good example? I have taken Agag the 
king of the Amalekites— no, but, upon my life, I have got a French 
major, and I’d let him go for fifty doubloons.” 

It was not without much laughing and some eloquence that I 
could persuade Monsoon that Sir Arthur’s military notions might 
not accept of even the authority of Moses ; and, as our head-quar- 
ters were at no great distance, the danger of such a step as he 
meditated was too considerable at such a moment. 

As for ourselves, no fatiguing drills, no harassing field-days, and 
no provoking inspections interfered with the easy current of our 
lives. Foraging parties there were, it is true, and some occasional 
outpost duty was performed ; but the officers for both were selected 
with a tact that proved the major’s appreciation of character ; for 
while the gay, joyous fellow that sung a jovial song and loved his 
liquor was certain of being entertained at head-quarters, the less- 
gifted and less-congenial spirit had the happiness of scouring the 
country for forage, and presenting himself as a target to a French 
rifle. 

My own endeavours to fulfil my instructions met with but little 
encouragement or support; and, although 1 laboured hard at my 
task, I must confess that the soil was a most ungrateful one. The 
cavalry were, it is true, composed mostly of young fellows well ap- 
pointed, and in most cases well mounted; but a more disorderly, 
careless, undisciplined set of good-humoured fellows never formed 
a corps in the world. 

Monsoon’s opinions were felt in every branch of the service, 
from the adjutant to the drum-boy — the same reckless, indolent, 
plunder-loving spirit prevailed everywhere. And although, under 
fire, they showed no lack of gallantry or courage, the moment of 
danger passed, discipline departed with it, and their only conception 
of benefiting by a victory consisted in the amount of pillage that 
resulted from it. 

From time to time the rumours of great events reached us. We 
heard that Soult, having succeeded in reorganizing his beaten 
army, was, in conjunction with Ney’s corps, returning from the 
north; that the marshals were consolidating their forces in the 
neighbourhood of Talavera, and that King Joseph himself, at the 
head of a large army, had marched for Madrid. 

Menacing as such an aspect of affairs was, it had little disturbed 
the major’s equanimity; and when our advanced post reported 
daily the intelligence, that the French were in retreat, he cared little 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


327 


with what object of concentrating they retired, provided the inter^ 
val between us grew gradually wider. His speculations upon the 
future were singularly prophetic. You’ll see, Charley, what will 
happen ; old Cuesta will pursue them, and get thrashed. The 
English will come up, and, perhaps, get thrashed too ; but we — 
God bless us — are only a small force, partially organized and ill 
to depend on ; we’ll go up the mountains till all is over.” Thus 
did the major’s discretion not only extend to the avoidance of 
danger, but he actually disqualified himself from even making its 
acquaintance. 

Meanwhile, our operations consisted in making easy marches to 
Almarez, halting wherever the commissariat reported a well-stocked 
cellar or well-furnished hen-roost ; taking the primrose path in life, 
and being, in the words of the major, contented and grateful, even 
amid great perils !” 


328 


CHARLES o’mALLET^ 


CHAPTER LVL 

THE DEPARTURE. 

On the morning of the 10th July, a despatch reached us announc- 
ing that Sir Arthur Wellesley had taken up his head-cpiarters at 
Placentia, for the purpose of communicating with Cuesta, then at 
Case del Puerto, and ordering me immediately to repair to the 
Spanish head-quarters, and await Sir Arthur’s arrival, to make my 
report upon the effective state of our corps. As for me, I was 
heartily tired of the inaction of my present life, and, much as I 
relished the eccentricities of my friend the major, longed ardently 
for a different sphere of action. 

Not so Monsoon : the prospect of active employment, and the 
thoughts of being left once more alone — for his Portuguese staff 
afforded him little society — depressed him greatly, and, as the hour 
of my departure drew near, he appeared lower in spirits than I had 
ever seen him. 

“ I shall be very lonely without you, Charley,” said he, with a 
sigh, as we sat the last evening together beside our cheerful wood- 
fire. “ I have little intercourse with the Dons ; for my Por- 
tuguese is none of the best, and only comes when the evening is 
far advanced, and, besides, the villains, I fear, may remember the 
sherry aftair. Two of my present staff were with me then.” 

Is that the story Power so often alluded to. Major, the King of 
Spain’s — r— 

“There, Charley, hush: be cautious, my boy; I’d rather not 
speak about that till we get amongst our own fellows.” 

“ Just as you like. Major ; but, do you know, I have a strong 
curiosity to hear the narrative.” 

“ If I’m not mistaken there is some one listening at the door : 
gently; that’s it, eh?” 

“No; we are perfectly alone; the night’s early; who knows 
when we shall have as quiet an hour again together? Let me hear 
it, by all means.” 

“Well, I don’t care : the thing. Heaven knows, is tolerably well 
known ; so, if you’ll amuse yourself making a devil of the turkey’s 
legs there. I’ll tell you the story : it’s very short, Charley, and 
there’s no moral : so you’re not likely to repeat it.” 

So saying, the major filled up his glass, drew a little closer to 
the fire, and began : 

“ When the French troops under Laborde were marching upon 
Alcobaca, in concert with the Loison’s corps, I was ordered to con- 
vey a very valuable present of sherry the Due d’ Albuquerque was 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


329 


making to the Supreme Junta — ^no less than ten hogsheads of the 
best sherry the royal cellars of Madrid had formerly contained. 

“ It was stored in the San Vincente convent; and the junta, 
knowing a little about monkish tastes and the wants of the church, 
prudently thought it would be quite as well at Lisbon. I was 
accordingly ordered, with a sufficient force to provide for its safe 
conduct and secure arrival, and set out upon my march one lovely 
morning in April with my precious convoy. 

“ I don’t know, I never could understand why temptations are 
thrown in our way in this life, except for the pleasure of yielding 
to them. As for me, I’m a stoic when there’s nothing to be had; 
but, let me get a scent of a well-kept haunch, the odour of a wine- 
bin once in my nose, I forget every thing except appropriation. 
That bone smells deliciously, Charley ; a little garlic would im- 
prove it vastly. 

‘‘ Our road lay through cross paths and mountain tracts — for the 
French were scouring the country on every side — and my fellows, 
only twenty altogether, trembled at the very name of them; so that 
our only chance was to avoid falling in with any forage parties. 
We journeyed along for several days, rarely making more than a 
few leagues between sunrise and sunset, a scout always in advance 
to assure us that all was safe. The road was a lonesome one, and 
the way weary — for I had no one to speak to or converse with — 
so I fell into a kind of musing fit about the old wine in the great 
brown casks : I thought on its luscious flavour, its rich straw tint, 
its oily look as it flowed into the glass, the mellow after-taste, 
warming the heart as it went down, and I absolutely thought I 
could smell it through the cask. 

“ How I longed to broach one of them, if it were only to see if 
my dreams about it were correct ; maybe it’s brown sherry, thought 
I, and I am all wrong. This was a very distressing reflection : 
I mentioned it to the Portuguese intendant, who travelled with us 
as a kind of supercargo; but the villain only grinned, and said 
something about the junta and the galleys for life : so I did not 
recur to it afterwards. Well, it was upon the third evening of our 
march that the scout reported that at Merida, about a league 
distant, he had fallen in with an English cavalry regiment, who 
were on their march to the northern provinces, and remaining that 
night in the village. As soon, therefore, as I had made all my 
arrangements for the night, I took a fresh horse, and cantered over 
to have a look at my countrymen, and hear the news. When 
I arrived it was dark night; but I was not long in finding out our 
fellows: they were the 1 1th Light Dragoons, commanded by my 
old friend, Bowes, and with as jolly a mess as any in the 
service. 

Before half an hour’s time I was in the midst of them, hear- 
ing all about the campaign, and telling them in return about my 

42 2 E 2 


330 


CHARLES O'MALLEY, 


convoy — dilating upon the qualities of the wine as if I had been 
drinking it every day at dinner. 

“ We had a very mellow night of it, and before four o’clock the 
senior major, and four captains, were under the table, and all the 
subs in a state unprovided for by the articles of war. So I thought 
I’d be going, and, wishing the sober ones a good-bye, set out on my 
road to join my own party. 

‘‘ I had not gone above a hundred yards when I heard some one 
running after, and calling out my name. 

‘ I say. Monsoon ! Major ! confound you, pull up.’ 

^ Well, what’s the matter? has any more lush turned up ?’ in- 
quired I ; for we had drank the tap dry when I left. 

‘ Not a drop, old fellow ’ said he ; ^ but I was thinking of 

what you’ve been saying about that sherry.’ 

‘ Well ! What then ?’ 

« ( Why, I want to .know how we could get a taste of it?’ 

‘You’d better get elected one of the Cortes,’ said I, laughing; 
‘for it does not seem likely you’ll do so in any other way.’ 

“ ‘ I’m not so sure of that,’ said he, smiling. ‘What road do 
you travel to-morrow?’ 

“ ‘ By Cavalhos and Reina.’ 

“ ‘Whereabouts may you happen to be towards sunset?’ 

“ ‘ I fear we shall be in the mountains,’ said I, with a knowing 
look, ‘where ambuscades and surprise parties would be highly 
dangerous.’ 

“ ‘ And your party consists of ?’ 

“ ‘ About twenty Portuguese, all ready to run at the first shot.’ 

“ ‘ I’ll do it. Monsoon ! I’ll be hanged if I don’t.’ 

“ ‘But, Tom,’ said I, ‘don’t make any blunder; only blank car- 
tridge, my boy.’ 

“ ‘ Honour bright!’ cried he; ‘your fellows are armed, of course?’ 

“ ‘ Never think of that ; they may shoot each other in the con- 
fusion ; but, if you only make plenty of noise coming on, they’ll 
never wait for you.’ 

“ ‘ What capital fellows they must be !’ 

“ ‘ Crack troops, Tom; so don’t hurt them: and now good night.’ 

“As I cantered off, I began to think over O’Flaherty’s idea, and, 
upon my life, I didn’t half like it: he was a reckless devil-may-care 
fellow, and it was just as likely he would really put his scheme into 
practice. 

“ When morning broke, however, we got under way again, and 
I amused myself all the forenoon in detailing stories of French 
cruelty; so that, before we had marched ten miles, there was not 
a man amongst us not ready to run at the slightest sound of attack 
on any side. As evening was falling we reached Morento, a little 
mountain pass which follows the course of a small river, and where 
in many places, the mule carts had barely space enough to pass be- 
tween the cliffs and the stream. What a place for Tom O’Flaherty 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


331 


aad his foragers! thought I, as we entered the little mountain 
gorge ; but all was silent as the grave : except the tramp of our 
party, not a sound was heard. There was something solemn and 
still in the great brown mountain, rising like vast walls on either 
side, with a narrow streak of gray sky at top, and in the dark slug 
gish stream, that seemed to awe us, and no one spoke ; the mule- 
teer ceased his merry song, and did not crack or flourish his long 
whip as before, but chid his beasts in a half-muttered voice, and 
urged them faster, to reach the village before night-fall. 

Egad, somehow I felt uncommonly uncomfortable ; I could not 
divest my mind of the impression that ' some disaster was impend- 
ing, and I wished O’Flaherty and his project in a very warm cli- 
mate. He’ll attack us, thought I, where we can’t run : fair play 
forever ; but, if they are not able to get away, even the militia 
will fight. However, the evening crept on, and no sign of his 
coming appeared on any side, and, to my sincere satisfaction, I 
could see, about half a league distant, the twinkling light of the 
little village where we were to halt for the night. It was just at 
this time that a scout I had sent out some few hundred yards in 
advance came galloping up, almost breathless. 

‘ The French, captain; the French are upon us!’ said he, with 
a face like a ghost. 

‘‘^Whew! Which way? how many?’ said I, not at all sure 
that he might not be telling the truth. 

‘ Coming in force !’ said the fellow: ‘ Dragoons ! by this road.’ 

“ ^ Dragoons ? By this road ?’ repeated every man of the party, 
looking at each other like men sentenced to be hanged. 

“ Scarcely had they spoken, when we heard the distant noise of 
cavalry advancing at a brisk trot. Lord, what a scene ensued ! 
the soldiers ran hither and thither like frightened sheep; some 
pulled out crucifixes and began to say their prayers ; others fired 
off their muskets in a panic ; the mule drivers cut their traces, and 
endeavoured to get away by riding ; and the intendant took to his 
heels, screaming out to us, as he went, to fight manfully to the last, 
and that he’d report us favourably to the junta. 

« Just at this moment the dragoons came in sight : they came 
galloping up, shouting like madmen. One look was enough for 
my fellows ; they sprang to their legs from their devotions ; fired 
a volley straight at the new moon, and ran like men. 

I was knocked down in the rush : as I regained my legs, Tom 
O’Flaherty was standing beside me, laughing like mad. 

“ ‘ Eh, Monsoon ! I’ve kept my word, old fellow ! What legs 
they have ! we shall make no prisoners, that’s certain. Now, lads, 
here it is ! put the horses to — here. We shall take but one. Mon- 
soon, so that your gallant defence of the rest will please the junta. 
Good-night; good-night! I will drink your health every night 
these two months.’ 

So saying, Tom sprung to his saddle, and in less time than I’ve 


332 


CHARLES o’mALLET. 


been telling it the whole was over, and I sitting by myself in the 
gray moonlight, meditating on all I saw, and now and then shout- 
ing for my Portuguese friends to come back again. They came in 
time, by twos and threes, and at last the whole party re-assem- 
bled, and we set forth again, — every man, from the intendant to 
the drummer, lauding my valour, and saying that Don Monsoon 
was a match for the Cid.’’ 

And how did the junta behave ?” 

Like trumps^ Charley. Made me a Knight of Battalha, and 
kissed me on both cheeks, having sent twelve dozen of the rescued 
wine to my quarters, as a small testimony of their esteem. I have 
laughed very often at it since. But, hush ! Charley. What’s that 
I hear without there ?” 

Oh, it’s my fellow, Mike. He asked my leave to entertain his 
friends before parting, and I perceive he is delighting them with a 
song.” 

‘‘ But, what a confounded air it is ! are the words Hebrew ?” 

Irish, Major; most classical Irish, too. I’ll be bound.” 

“ Irish ! I’ve heard most tongues ; but that certainly surprises 
me. Call him in, Charley, and let us have the canticle.” 

In a few minutes more, Mr. Free appeared in a state of very 
satisfactory elevation, his eyebrows alternately rising and falling, 
his mouth a little drawn to one side, and a side motion in his knee- 
joints that might puzzle a physiologist to account for. 

“ A very sweet little song of yours, Mike,” said the major ; ‘‘a 
very sweet thing, indeed. Wet your lips, Mickey.” 

“ Long life to your honour and Master Charles there, too, and 
them that belongs to both of yer. May a gooseberry skin make 
a nightcap for the man would harm either of yer.” 

Thank you, Mike. And now about that song ?” 

“ It’s the ouldest tune ever was sung,” said Mike, with a hic- 
cup, “ barring Adam had a taste for music ; but the words — the 
poethry is not so ould.” 

“ And how comes that ?” 

The poethry, ye see, was put to it by one of my ancesthors ; 
he was a great inventhor in times past, and made beautiful songs ; 
and ye’d never guess what it’s all about.” 

Love, mayhap ?” quoth Monsoon. 

“ Sorry taste of kissing from beginning to end.” 

‘^A drinking song?” said I. 

Whisky is never mentioned.” 

« Fighting is the only other national pastime. It must be m 
praise of sudden death ?” 

You’re out again: but, sure, you’d nivver guess it,” said 
Mike. Well, ye see, here’s what it is. It’s the praise and glory 
of ould Ireland in the great days that’s gone, when we were all 
Phenayceans and Armenians, and when we worked all manne- 
of beautiful contrivances in goold and silver ; bracelets, and col- 


THE IKISH DRAGOON. 


333 


lars, and tea-pots, elegant to look at ; and read Roosian and Latin, 
and played the harp and the barrel-organ ; and eat and drank of 
the best, for nothing but asking.^^ 

Blessed times, upon my life,” quoth the major. ‘‘ I wish we 
had them back again.” 

“ There’s more of your mind,” said Mike, steadying himself. 
“ My ancesthors was great people in them days ; and, sure, it isn’t 
in my present situation I’d be, av we had them back again : sorra 
bit, faith ! It isn’t come here, Mickey — bad luck to you, Mike — 
or that blackguard, Mickey Free — people’d be calling me. But, 

no matter. Here’s your health again, Major Monsoon ” 

Never mind vain regrets, Mike. Let us hear your song : the 
major has taken a great fancy to it.” 

“ Ah, then, it’s joking you are, Mister Charles,” said Mike, 
affecting an air of most bashful coyness. 

By no means. We want to hear you sing it.” 

To be sure we do. Sing it, by all means. Never be ashamed. 
King David was very fond of singing : upon my life he was.” 

But you’d never understand a word of it, sir.” 

No matter : we know what’s it about. That’s the way with 
the Legion : they don’t know much English, but they generally 
guess what I’m at.” 

This argument seemed to satisfy all Mike’s remaining scruples ; 
so, placing himself in an attitude of considerable pretensions as to 
grace, he began, with a voice of no very measured compass, an 
air of which, neither by name or otherwise, can I give any con- 
ception — my principal amusement being derived from a tol de rol 
chorus of the major, which concluded each verse, and, indeed, in 
a lower key, accompanied the singer throughout. 

Since that, I have succeeded in obtaining a free-and-easy trans- 
lation of the lyric; but, in my anxiety to preserve the metre and 
something of the spirit of the original, I have made several blun- 
ders and many anachronisms : Mr. Free, however, pronounces 
my version a good one, and the world must take his word till 
some more worthy translator shall have consigned it to immortal 
verse. 

With this apology, therefore, I present Mr. Free’s song. 

Air — “ Na Guilloch y’ Goulen*^ 

I. 

“ Oh ! once we were illigairt people, % 

Though we now live in cabins of mud ; 

And the land that ye see from the steeple 
Belonged to us all from the flood, 

My father was then king of Connaught, 

My grandaunt viceroy of Tralee ; 

But the Sassenach came, and, signs on it 1 
The devil an acre have we. 


334 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


II. 

“ The least of us then were all earls, 

And jewels we wore without name ; 

We drank punch out of rubies and pearls — 

Mr. Petrie can tell you the same. — 

But, except some turf mould and potatoes, 

There’s nothing our own we can call : 

And the English — bad luck to them ! — hate us, 

Because we’ve more fun than them all ! 

III. 

“ My grandaunt was niece to St. Kevin, 

That’s the reason my name’s Micky Free ! 

Priest’s nieces — but sure he’s in heaven, 

And his failins is nothin to me. 

And we still might get on without doctors, 

If they’d let the ould island alone, 

And if purple men, priests, and tithe-proctors. 

Were crammed down the great gun of Athlone.” 

As Mike’s melody proceeded, the major’s thorough bass waxed 
beautifully less : now and then, it’s true, roused by some mo- 
mentary strain, it swelled upwards in full chorus ; but gradually 
these passing flights grew rarer, and finally all ceased, save a long, 
low, droning sound, like the expiring sigh of a wearied bagpipe. 
His fingers still continued mechanically to beat time upon the ta- 
ble, and ^till his head nodded sympathetically to the music ; his eye- 
lids closed in sleep, and, as the last verse concluded, a full-drawn 
snore announced that Monsoon, if not in the land of dreams, was, 
at least, in a happy oblivion of all terrestrial concerns, and caring 
as little for the woes of green Erin and the altered fortunes of the 
Free family as any Saxon that ever oppressed them. 

There he sat, the finished decanter and empty goblet testifying 
that his labours had only ceased from the pressure of necessity ; 
but the broken half-uttered words that fell from his lips evinced 
that he reposed on the last bottle of the series. 

Oh, thin ! he’s a fine ould gentleman,” said Mike, after a pause 
of some minutes, during which he had been contemplating the 
major with all the critical acumen Chantrey or Canova would 
have bestowed upon an antique statue ; A fine ould gentleman, 
every inch of him ; and it’s the master would like to have him up 
at the castle.” 

‘‘ Quite true, Mike : but let us not forget the road. Look to the 
cattle, and be ready to start within an hour.” 

When he left the room for this purpose, I endeavoured to shake 
the major into momentary consciousness ere we parted. 

Major, Major,” said I, ‘‘ time is up. I must start.” 

“Yes, it’s all true, your Excellency: they pillaged a little ; and, 
if they did change their facings, there was a great temptation. All 
the red velvet they found in the churches ” 

“ Good-bye, old fellow, good-bye !” 

“ Stand at ease !” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


335 


“ Can’t, unfortunately, yet a while : so farewell. I’ll make a capi- 
tal report of the legion to Sir Arthur; shall I add anything particu- 
larly from yourself?” 

This, and the shake that accompanied it, aroused him: he started 
up, and looked about him for a few seconds. 

Eh, Charley ! You didn’t say Sir Arthur was here, did you ?” 

No, Major, don’t be frightened ; he’s many a league off. I 
asked if you had any thing to say when I met him ?” 

“ Oh, yes, Charley. Tell him we’re capital troops in our own 
little way in the mountains ; would never do in pitched battles ; 
skirmishing’s our forte ; and, for cutting off stragglers or sacking a 
town, back them at any odds.” 

“ Yes, yes, I know all that : you’ve nothing more ?” 

“ Nothing,” said he, once more closing his eyes and crossing his 
hands before him, while his lips continued to mutter on, ‘‘ nothing 
more, except you may say from me, — ^he knows me. Sir Arthur 
does. Tell him to guard himself from intemperance : a fine fellow 
if he wouldn’t drink.” 

“You horrid old humbug, what nonsense are you muttering 
there ?” 

“ Yes, yes ; Solomon says, who hath red eyes and carbuncles, — 
they that mix their lush. Pure sntyd never injured any one. Tell 
him so from me : it’s an old man’s advice, and I have drunk some 
hogsheads of it.” 

With these words he ceased to speak, while his head, falling 
gently forward upon his chest, proclaimed him sound asleep. 

“ Adieu ! then, for the last time,” said I, slapping him gently on 
the shoulder: “and now for the road.” 


336 


CHARLES o’mALLET, 


CHAPTER LVII. 

CUESTA. 

The second day of our journey was drawing to a close as we 
came in view of the Spanish army. 

The position they occupied was an undulating plain beside the 
Teitar river: the country presented no striking feature of picturesque 
beauty; but the scene before us needed no such aid to make it one 
of the most interesting kind. From the little mountain path we 
travelled, we beheld beneath a force of thirty thousand men drawn 
up in battle array; dense columns of infantry, alternating with 
squadrons of horse or dark masses of artillery, dotted the wide 
plain, the bright steel glittering in the rich sunset of a July evening, 
when not a breath of air was stirring: the very banners hung down 
listlessly; and not a sound broke the solemn stillness of the hour. 
All was silent: so impressive and so strange was the spectacle of a 
vast army thus resting mutely under arms, that I reined in my 
horse, and almost doubted the reality of the scene as I gazed upon 
it. The dark shadows of the tall mountain were falling across the 
valley, and a starry sky was already replacing the ruddy glow of 
sunset as we reached the plain ; but still no change took place in 
the position of the Spanish army. 

Who goes there cried a hoarse voice, as we issued from the 
mountain gorge, and in a moment we found ourselves surrounded 
by an outpost party. Having explained as well as I was able who 
I was and for what reason I was there, I proceeded to accompany 
the officer towards the camp. 

On my way thither I learned the reason of the singular display 
of troops which had been so puzzling to me. From an early hour 
of that day Sir Arthur Wellesley’s arrival had been expected, and 
old Cuesta had drawn up his men for inspection, and remained 
thus for several hours patiently awaiting his coming ; he himself, 
overwhelmed with years and infirmity, sitting upon his horse the 
entire time. 

As it was not necessary that I should be presented to the gene- 
ral, my report being for the ear of Sir Arthur himself, I willingly 
availed myself of the hospitality proffered by a Spanish officer of 
cavalry; and, having provided for the comforts of my tired cattle, 
and taken a hasty supper, issued forth to look at the troops, which, 
although it was now growing late, were still in the same attitude. 

Scarcely had I been half an hour thus occupied, when the 
stillness of the scene was suddenly interrupted by the loud re- 
port of a large gun, immediately followed by a long roll of mus- 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


337 


ketry, while, at the same moment, the bands of the different regi- 
ments struck up ; and, as if by magic, a blaze of red light streamed 
across the dark ranks : this was effected by pine torches, held aloft 
at intervals, throwing a lurid glow upon the grim and swarthy 
features of the Spaniards, whose brown uniforms and slouching 
hats presented a most picturesque effect as the red light fell upon 
them. 

The swell of the thundering cannon grew louder and nearer ; 
the shouldering of muskets, the clash of sabres, and the hoarse roll 
of the drum, mingling in one common din. I at once guessed that 
Sir Arthur had arrived, and, as I turned the flank of a battalion, I 
saw the staff approaching. 

Nothing can be conceived more striking -than their advance. In 
the front rode old Cuesta himself, clad in the costume of a past cen- 
tury ! his slashed doublet and trunk hose reminding one of a more 
chivalrous period ; his heavy, unwieldy figure looming from side to 
side, and threatening at each moment to fall from his saddle. On 
each side of him walked two figures gorgeously dressed, whose 
duty appeared to be to sustain the chief in his seat. At his side 
rode a far different figure : mounted upon a slight made, active 
thoroughbred, whose drawn flanks bespoke a long and weary 
journey, sat Sir Arthur Wellesley ; a plain blue frock and gray 
trousers being his unpretending costume ; but the eagle glance 
which he threw around on every side, the quick motion of his 
hand as he pointed hither and thither among the dense battalions, 
bespoke him every inch a soldier. Behind them came a brilliant 
staff, glittering in aiguillettes and golden trappings, among whom I 
recognised some well-remembered faces ; our gallant leader at the 
Douro, Sir Charles Stewart, among the number. 

As they passed the spot where I was standing, the torch of a 
foot soldier behind me flared suddenly out, and threw a strong 
flash upon the party. Cuesta’s horse grew frightened and plunged 
so fearfully for a minute, that the poor old man could scarcely keep 
his seat. A smile shot across Sir Arthur’s features at the moment ; 
but the next instant he was grave and steadfast as before. 

A wretched hovel, thatched and in ruins, formed the head-quar- 
ters of the Spanish army, and thither the staff now bent their steps ; 
a supper being provided there for our commander-in-chief and the 
officers of his suite. Although not of the privileged party, I linger- 
ed round the spot for some time, anxiously expecting to find some 
friend or acquaintance, who might tell me the news of our people 
and what events had occurred in my absence. 


«F 


43 


338 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


CHAPTER LVIII. 

THE LETTER. 

The hours passed slowly over, and I at length grew weary of 
waiting. For some time I had amused myself with observing the 
slouching gait and unsoldierlike air of the Spaniards as they lounged 
carelessly about; looking, in dress, gesture, and appointment, 
far more like a guerilla than a regular force : then, again, the 
strange contrast of the miserable hut with falling chimney and 
ruined walls, to the glitter of the mounted guard of honour who 
sat motionless beside it, served to pass the time ; but, as the night 
was already far advanced, I turned towards my quarters, hoping 
that the next morning might gratify my curiosity about my 
friends. 

Beside the tent where 1 was billetted I found Mike in waiting, 
who, the moment he saw me, came hastily forward with a letter in 
his hand. An officer of Sir Arthur’s staff had left it while I was 
absent, desiring Mike on no account to omit its delivery the first 
instant he met me. The hand — not a very legible one — w^as per- 
fectly unknown to me, and the appearance of the billet such as be- 
trayed no over-scrupulous care in the writer. 

I trimmed my lamp leisurely ; threw a fresh log upon the fire ; 
disposed myself completely at full length beside it ; and then pro- 
ceeded to form acquaintance with my unknown correspondent. I 
will not attempt any description of the feelings which gradually 
filled me as I read on. The letter itself will suggest them to those 
who know my story. It ran thus : — 

“ Placentia, July 8th, 1809. 

“ Dear O’Malley, 

Although I’d rather march to Lisbon barefoot than write three 
lines, Fred Power insists upon my turning scribe, as he has a notion 
you’ll be up at Cuesta’s head-quarters about this time. You’re in 
a nice scrape, devil a lie in it : here has Fred been fighting that fel- 
low Trevy Ilian for you ; all because you would not have patience 
and fight him yourself, the morning you left the Douro. So much 
for haste : let it be a lesson to you all your life. 

Poor Fred got the ball in his hip, and the devil a one of the 
doctors can find it : but he’s getting better, any way, and going to 
Lisbon for change of air. Meanwhile, since Power’s been wound- 
ed, Trevyllian’s speaking very hardly of you, and they all say here 
you must come back — no matter how — and put matters to rights. 
Fred has placed the thing in my hands, and I’m thinking we’d bet- 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


339 


ter call out the ‘heavies’ by turns; for most of them stand by 
Trevyllian. Maurice Quill and myself sat up considering it last 
night; but, somehow, we don’t clearly remember to-day a beautiful 
plan we hit upon : however, we’ll have at it again this evening. 
Meanwhile, come over here, and let us be doing something. We 
hear that old Monsoon has blown up a town, a bridge, and a big 
convent ; they must have been hiding the plunder very closMy, or 
he’d never have been reduced to such extremities. We’ll have a 
brush with the French soon. 

“ Your’s most eagerly, 

“S. O’Shaughnessy.” 

My first thought, as I ran my eye over these lines, was to seek 
for Power’s note, written on the morning we parted. I opened it, 
and to my horror found that it only related to my quarrel with 
Hammersly. My meeting with Trevyllian had been during 
Fred’s absence, and — when he assured me that all was satisfacto- 
rily arranged and a full explanation tendered ; that nothing inter- 
fered with my departure — I utterly forgot that he was only aware 
of one-half my troubles ; and, in the haste and bustle of my depart- 
ure, had not a moment left me to collect myself and think calmly 
on the matter. The two letters lay before me, and, as I thought 
over the stain upon my character thus unwittingly incurred, — the 
blast I have thrown upon my reputation, the wound of my poor 
friend, who exposed himself for my sake, — I grew sick at heart, and 
the bitter tears of agony burst from my eyes. 

That weary night passed slowly over; the blight of all my prospects 
when they seemed fairest and brightest, presented itself to me in a 
hundred shapes ; and when, overcome by fatigue and exhaustion, 
I closed my eyes to sleep, it was only to follow up in my dreams 
my waking thoughts. Morning came at length; but its bright 
sunshine and balmy air brought no comfort to me : I absolutely 
dreaded to meet my brother officers ; I felt that, in such a position 
as I stood, no half or partial explanation could suffice to set me 
right in their estimation : and yet, what opportunity had I for aught 
else ? Irresolute how to act, I sat leaning my head upon my hands, 
when I heard a footstep approach : I looked up and saw before me 
no other than my poor friend Sparks, from whom I had been sepa- 
rated so long. Any other adviser at such a moment would, I ac- 
knowledge, have been as welcome ; for the poor fellow knew but 
little of the world and still less of the service. Howev-er, one glance 
convinced me that his heart at least was true, and I shook his out- 
stretched hand with delight. In a few words, he informed me that 
Merivale had secretly commissioned him to come over, in the hope 
of meeting me; that, although all the 14th men were persuaded 
that I was not to blame in what had occurred ; yet, that reports so 
injurious had gone abroad, so many partial and imperfect state- 
ments were circulated, that nothing but my return to head-quarters 


340 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


would avail, and that I must not lose a moment in having Trevyl- 
lian out, with whom all the misrepresentation had originated. 

This, of course,” said Sparks is to be a secret ; Merivale 
being our colonel ” 

Of course,” said I: “he cannot countenance, much less coun- 
sel, such a proceeding. Now, then, for the road.” 

“ ¥es ; but you cannot leave before making your report. Gordon 
expects to see you at eleven : he told me so last night.” 

“ I cannot help it : I shall not wait ; my mind is made up. M) 
career here matters but little in comparison with this horrid charge 
I shall be broke, but I shall be avenged.” 

“ Come, come, O’Malley ; you are in our hands now, and you 
must be guided. You shall wait; you shall see Gordon : half an 
hour will make your report, and I have relays of horses along the 
road, and we shall reach Placentia by nightfall.” 

There was a tone of firmness in this, so unlike any thing I ever 
looked for in the speaker, and withal so much of foresight and pre- 
caution, that I could scarcely credit my senses as he spoke. Hav- 
ing, at length, agreed to his proposal. Sparks left me to think over 
my return of the legion, promising that, immediately after my 
interview with the military secretary, we should start together for 
head-quarters. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


341 


CHAPTER LIX. 

MAJOR O’SHAUGHNESST. 

This is Major O’Shaughnessy’s quarters, sir,” said a sergeant, 
as he stopped short at the door of a small low house in the midst 
of an olive plantation ; an Irish wolf dog — the well-known com- 
panion of the major — lay stretched across the entrance, watching 
with eager and bloodshot eyes the process of cutting up a bullock, 
which two soldiers in undress jackets were performing within a 
few yards of the spot. 

Stepping cautiously across the savage-looking sentinel, I entered 
the little hall, and, finding no one near, passed into a small room, 
the door of which lay half open. 

A very palpable odour of cigars and brandy proclaimed, even 
without his presence, that this was O’Shaughnessy’s sitting-room; 
so I sat myself down upon an old-fashioned sofa to wait patiently 
for his return, which I heard would be immediately after the even- 
ing parade. Sparks had become knocked up during our ride ; so 
that for the last three leagues I was alone, and, like most men in 
such circumstances, pressed on only the harder. Completely worn- 
out for want of rest, 1 had scarcely placed myself on the sofa when 
I fell sound asleep. When I awoke, all was dark around me, save 
the faint flickering of the wood-embers on the hearth, and, for some 
moments, I could not remember where I was ; but, by degrees, 
recollection came, and, as I thought over my position and its pos- 
sible consequences, I was again nearly dropping to sleep, when 
the door suddenly opened, and a heavy step sounded on the floor. 

I lay still and spoke not as a large figure in a cloak approached 
the fire-place, and, stooping down, endeavoured to light a candle at 
the fast-expiring fire. 

I had little difficulty in detecting the major, even by the half 
light : a muttered execration upon the candle, given with an energy 
that only an Irishman ever bestows upon slight matters, soon 
satisfied me on this head. 

May the devil fly away with the commissary and the chandler 
to the forces ! Ah ! you’ve lit at last.” 

With these words he stood up, and, his eyes falling on me at the 
moment, he sprung a yard or two backwards, exclaiming, as he did 
so, the blessed Virgin be near us, what’s this !” — a most energetic 
crossing of himself accompanying his words : my pale and hag- 
gard face, when suddenly presented to his, having suggested to the 

2f2 


342 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


worthy major the impression of a supernatural visiter : a hearty 
burst of laughter, which I could not resist, was my only answer ; 
and the next moment O’Shaughnessy was wrenching my hand in 
a grasp like a steel vice. 

Upon my conscience, I thought it was your ghost ; and, if you 
kept quiet a minute longer, I was going to promise you Christian 
burial, and as many masses for your soul as my uncle the 
bishop could say between this and Easter. How are you, my 
boy ? — a little thin and something paler, I think, than when you 
left us.’’ 

Having assured him that fatigue and hunger were in a great 
measure the cause of my sickly looks, the major proceeded to place 
before me the debris of his day’s dinner, with a sufficiency of bot- 
tles to satify a mess table, keeping up as he went a running fire of 
conversation. 

I’m as glad as if the Lord took the senior major, to see you 
here this night. With the blessing of Providence, we’ll shoot Tre- 
vyllian in the morning, and any more of the heavies that like it. 
You are an ill-treated man, that’s what it is ; and Dan O’Shaiigh- 
nessy says it. Help yourself, my boy : crusty old port in that 
bottle as ever you touched your lips to. Power’s getting all right. 
It was contract powder, warranted not to kill. Bad luck to the 
commissaries once more ! With such ammunition, Sir Arthur does 
right to trust most to the bayonet. And how is Monsoon, the old 
rogue ?” 

“ Gloriously : living in the midst of wine and olives.” 

No fear of him, the old sinner : but he is a fine fellow, after all : 
Charley, you are eating nothing, nothing, boy.” 

To tell you the truth, I’m far more anxious to talk with you at 
this moment than aught else.” 

So you shall : the night’s young. Meanwhile, I had better not 
delay matters : you want to have Trevyllian out ; is not that so ?” 

“ Of course, you are aware how it happened 2” 

“ I know every thing. Go on with your supper, and don’t mind 
me ; I’ll be back in twenty minutes or less.” 

Without waiting for any reply, he once more threw his cloak 
around him, and strode out of the room. Once more I was alone : 
but already my frame of mind was altered : the cheering tone of 
my reckless^ gallant countryman had raised my spirits, and I felt 
animated by his very manner. 

An hour elapsed before the major returned, and, when he did 
come, his appearance and gestures bespoke anger and disappoint- 
ment. He threw himself hurriedly into a seat, and for some 
minutes never spoke. 

The world’s beautifully changed, anyhow, since I began it, 
O’Malley — when you thanked a man civilly that asked you to fight 
him : the devil take the cowards, say I.” 

‘‘What has happened ? tell me, I beseech you !” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


343 


“He won’t fight,” said the major, blurting out the words as if 
they would choke him. 

“ He’ll not fight ! and why ?” 

The major was silent : he seemed confused and embarrassed ; 
he turned from the fire to the table, from the table to the fire, filled 
out a glass of wine, drank it hastily off, andj springing from his 
chair, paced the room with long, impatient strides. 

“ My dear O’Shaughnessy, explain, I beg of you. Does he refuse 
to meet me for any reason ?” 

“ He does,” said the major, turning on me a look of deep feeling 
as he spoke ; “ and he does it to ruin you, my boy ; but, as sure as 
my name is Dan, he’ll fail this time. He was sitting with his 
friend Beaufort when I reached his quarters, and received me with 
all the ceremonious politeness he well knows how to assume. I 
told him in a few words the object of my visit; upon which Tre- 
vyllian, standing up, referred me to his friend for a reply, and left 
the room. I thought that all was right, and sat down to discuss, 
as I believed, preliminaries, when the cool puppy, with his back to 
the fire, carelessly lisped out, ‘ It can’t be, major : your friend is 
too late.’ ” 

“ ‘ Too late ! too late ?’ ” said I. 

“ ‘ Yes, precisely so : not up to time ; the affair should have 
come off some six weeks since. We won’t meet him now.’ ” 

“ ‘ This is really your answer ?’ ” 

“ ‘ This is really my answer ; and not only so, but the decision 
of our mess.’ ” 

“ What I said after this, he may remember. Devil take me if 1 
can; but I have a vague recollection of saying something, the 
aforesaid mess will never petition the Horse Guards to put on 
their regimental colours : and here I am ” 

With these words the major gulped down a full goblet of wine, 
and once more resumed his walk through the room. I shall not 
attempt to record the feelings which agitated me during the major’s 
recital. In one rapid glance I saw the aim of my vindictive enemy. 
My honour, not my life, was the object he sought for; and ten 
thousand times more than ever did I pant for the opportunity to 
confront him in a deadly combat. 

“Charley,” said O’Shaughnessy, at length, placing his hand 
upon my shoulder, “ you must get to bed now — nothing more can 
be done to-night in my way. Be assured of one thing, my boy 
I’ll not desert you ; and if that assurance can give you a sound 
sleep, you’ll not need a lullaby.” 


344 


CHARLES o’MALLEr, 


CHAPTER LX. 

PRELIMINARIES. 

I AWOKE refreshed on the following morning, and came down to 
breakfast with a lighter heart than I had even hoped for ; a secret 
feeling that all would go well had somehow taken possession of 
me, and I longed for O’Shaughnessy’s coming, trusting that he 
might be able to confirm my hopes. His servant informed me 
that the major had been absent since daybreak, and left orders 
that he was not to be waited for at breakfast. 

I was not destined, however, to pass a solitary time in his 
absence ; for every moment brought some new arrival to visit me, 
and during the morning the colonel and every officer of the regi- 
ment not on actual duty came over. I soon learned that the feel- 
ing respecting Trevyllian’s conduct was one of unmixed condem- 
nation among my own corps ; but that a kind of party spirit which 
had subsisted for some months between the regiment he belonged 
to and the fourteenth, had given a graver character to the affair, 
and induced many men to take up his views of the transaction ; 
and, although I heard of none who attributed my absence to any 
dislike to a meeting, yet there were several who conceived that, 
by not going at the time, I had forfeited all claim to satisfaction at 
his hands. 

‘‘Now that Merivale is gone,” said an officer to me, as the colonel 
left the room, “ I may confess to you that he sees nothing to blame 
in your conduct throughout, and, even had you been aware of how 
matters were circumstanced, your duty was too imperative to have 
preferred your personal considerations to it.” 

“ Does any one know where Conyers is ?” said Baker. 

The Story goes that Conyers can assist us here. Conyers is at 
Zarza la Mayor with the 28 th : but what can he do ?” 

“That Pm not able to tell you: but I know O’Shaughnessy 
heard something at parade this morning, and has set off in search 
of him on every side.” 

“ Was Conyers ever out with Trevyllian ?” 

“ Not as a principal, I believe. The report is, however, that he 
knows more about him than other people, as Tom certainly does 
of everybody.” 

“ It is rather a new thing for Trevyllian to refuse a meeting. 
They say, O’Malley, he has heard of your shooting !” 

“No, no,” said another, “he cares very little for any man’s 
pistol. If the story be true, he fires a second or two before his 
adversary; at least, it was in that way he killed Carysfort !” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


345 


‘‘ Here comes the great O’Shaughnessy !” cried some one at the 
window ; and the next moment the heavy gallop of a horse was 
heard along the causeway. 

In an instant we all rushed to the door to receive him. 

“It’s all right, lads;” cried he as he came up, “we have him 
this time.” 

“ How ? when ? why ? In what way have you managed ?” 
fell from a dozen voices* as the major elbowed his way through 
the crowd to the sitting-room. 

“ In the first place,” said O’Shaughnessy, drawing a long breath, 
“ I have promised secrecy as to the steps of this transaction : 
secondly, if I hadn’t it would puzzle me to break it ; for I’ll be 
hanged if I know more than yourselves. Tom Conyers wrote me 
a few lines for Trevyllian; and Trevyllian pledges himself to 
meet our friend; and that’s all we need know or care for.” 

“Then you have seen Trevyllian this morning?” 

“ No, Beaufort met me at the village : but even now it seems 
this affair is never to come off. Trevyllian has been sent with a 
forage party towards Lesca : however, that can’t be a long ab- 
sence. But, for Heaven’s sake ! let me have some breakfast.” 

While O’Shaughnessy proceeded to the attack of the viands 
before him, the others chatted about in little groups, but all wore 
the pleased and happy looks of men who had rescued their friend 
from a menaced danger. As for myself, my heart swelled with 
gratitude to the kind fellows around me. 

“How has Conyers assisted us at this juncture?” was my first 
question to O’Shaughnessy, when we were once more alone. 

“ I am not at liberty to speak on that subject, Charley. But, be 
satisfied, the reasons for which Trevyllian meets you are fair and 
honourable.” 

“ I am content.” 

“ The only thing now to be done is, to have the meeting as 
soon as possible.” 

“ We are all agreed upon that point,” said I ; “and the more so, 
as the matter had better be decided before Sir Arthur’s return.” 

“ Quite true ; and now, O’Malley, you had better join your 
people as soon as may be, and it will put a stop to all talking 
about the matter.” 

The advice was good, and I lost no time iivJomplying with it, 
and, when I joined the regiment that day at mess, it was with a 
light heart and a cheerful spirit; for, come what might of the 
affair, of one thing I was certain, — my character was now put 
above any reach of aspersion, and my reputation beyond attack. 

44 


346 


CHARLES O’MALLET, 


CHAPTER LXI. 

» 

ALL RIGHT. 

Some days after coming back to head-quarters, I was returning 
from a visit I had been making to a friend at one of the outposts, 
when an officer whom I knew slightly overtook me and informed 
me that Major O’Shaughnessy had been to my quarters in search 
of me, and had sent persons in different directions to find me. 

Suspecting the object of the major’s haste, I hurried on at once, 
and, as I rode up to the spot, found him in the midst of a group of 
officers, engaged, to all appearance, in most eager conversation. 

0, here he comes,” cried he as I cantered up. Come, my 
boy, doff the blue frock, as soon as you can, and turn out in your 
best fitting black. Every thing has been settled for this evening 
at seven o’clock, and we have no time to lose.” 

understand you,” said I, ‘‘and shall not keep you waiting.” 
So saying, I sprang from the saddle and hastened to my quarters ; 
as I entered the room I was followed by O’Shaughnessy, who 
closed the door after him as he came in ; and, having turned the 
key in it, sat down beside the table, and, folding his arms, seemed 
buried in reflection. As I proceeded with my toilet, he returned no 
answers to the numerous questions I put to him, either as to the 
time of Treyvllian’s return, the place of the meeting, or any other 
part of the transaction. 

His attention seemed to wander far from all around and about 
him : and, as he muttered indistinctly to himself, the few words I 
could catch bore not in the remotest degree upon the matter 
before us. 

“ I have written a letter or two here, Major,” said I, opening 
my writing-desk; “in case any thing happens, you will look 
to the few things I have mentioned here. Somehow, I could 
not write to poor Fred Power ; but you must tell him from me 
that his noble conduct towards me was the last thing I spoke of.” 

“What confounded nonsense you are talking!” said O’Shaugh- 
nessy, springing from his seat and crossing the room with tremen- 
dous strides, “ croaking away there as if the bullet was in your 
thorax. Hang it, man, bear up !” 

“But, Major, my dear friend, what the deuse are you think- 
ing of! The few things I mentioned ” 

“The devil! you are not going over it all again, are you?” 
said he, in a voice of no measured tone. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


347 


I now began to feel irritated in turn, and really looked at him 
for some seconds in considerable amazement. That he should 
have mistaken the directions I was giving him, and attributed them 
to any cowardice, was too insulting a thought to bear ; and yet 
how otherwise was I to understand the very coarse style of his 
interruption ? 

At length, my temper got the victory, and, with a voice of most 
measured calmness, I said, “ Major O’Shaughnessy, I am grateful, 
most deeply grateful, for the part you have acted towards me in 
this difficult business : at the same time, as you now appear to 
disapprove of my conduct and bearing, when I am most firmly 
determined to alter nothing, 1 shall beg to relieve you of the un- 
pleasant office of my friend.” 

“ Heaven grant that you could do so !” said he, interrupting 
me, while his clasped hands and eager look attested the vehe- 
mence of the wish. He paused for a moment; then, springing 
from his chair, rushed towards me, and threw his arms around me. 
“ No, my boy, I can’t do it ; I can’t do it. I have tried to bully 
myself into insensibility for this evening’s work — I have endea- 
voured to be rude to you, that you might yisult me, and steel my 
heart against what might happen : but it won’t do, Charley ; it 
won’t do.” 

With these words the big tears rolled down his stern cheeks, 
and his voice became thick with*emotion. 

“ But for me, and all this need not have happened. I know it ; 
I feel it ; I hurried on this meeting : your character stood fair and 
unblemished without that ; at least they tell me so now ; and I 
still have to assure you ” 

Come, my dear, kind friend, don’t give way in this fashion. You 
have stood manfully by me through every step of the road ; don’t 
desert me on the threshold of ” 

“ The grave, O’Malley ?” 

I don’t think so. Major ; but see, half-past six. Look to 
these pistols for me. Are they likely to object to hair trig- 
gers ?” 

A knocking at the door turned off our attention, and the next 
moment Baker’s voice was heard. 

“ O’Malley, you’ll be close run for time : the meeting-place is 
full three miles from this !” 

I seized the key and opened the door; at the same instant 
O’Shaughnessy rose and turned towards the window, holding one 
of the pistols in his hand. 

Look at that. Baker : what a sweet tool it is,” said he, in 
a voice that actually made me start : not a trace of his late excite- 
ment remained. His usually dry, half-humorous manner had re- 
turned, and his droll features were as full of their own easy, devil- 
may-care fun as ever. 


348 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


“ Here comes the drag,’’ said Baker. ‘‘We can drive nearly all 
the way, unless you prefer riding.” 

“ Of course not. Keep your hand steady, Charley, and, if you 
don’t bring him down with that saw-handle, you’re not your un 
cle’s nephew.” 

With these words we mounted into the tax-cart, and set off for 
the meeting-place. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


349 


CHAPTER LXII. 

THE DUEL. 

A SMALL and narrow ravine between two furze-covered dells 
led to the open space where the meeting had been arranged for. 
As we reached this, therefore, we were obliged to descend from 
the drag, and proceed the remainder of the way afoot. We had 
not gone many yards when a step was heard approaching, and the 
next moment Beaufort appeared. His usually easy and degage 
air was certainly tinged with somewhat of constraint ; and, though 
his soft voice and half smile were as perfect as ever, a slightly 
flurried expression about the lip, and a quick and nervous motion 
of his eyebrow, bespoke a heart not completely at ease. He lifted 
his foraging cap most ceremoniously to salute us as we came up, 
and, casting an anxious look to see if any others were following, 
stood quite still. 

‘‘ I think it right to mention. Major O’Shaughnessy,’’ said he, in 
a voice of most dulcet sweetness, “ that I am the only friend of 
Captain Trevyllian on the ground ; and, though I have not the 
slightest objection to Captain Baker being present, I hope you will 
see the propriety of limiting the witnesses to the three persons now 
here.’’ 

“ Upon my conscience, as far as I am concerned, or my friend 
either, we are perfectly indifferent if we fight before three or three 
thousand. In Ireland, we rather like a crowd.” 

“ Of course, then, as you see no objection to my proposition, I 
may count upon your co-operation in the event of any intrusion ; 
I mean, that while we, upon our sides, will not permit any of our 
friends to come forward, you will equally exert yourself with 
yours.” 

Here we are. Baker and myself; neither more nor less: we 
expect no one, and v/ant no one ; so that I humbly conceive all 
the preliminaries you are talking of will never be required.” 

Beaufort tried to smile, and bit his lips, while a small red spot 
upon his cheek spoke that some deeper feeling of irritation than 
the mere careless manner of the major could account for, still 
rankled in his bosom. We now walked on without speaking, ex- 
cept when occasionally some passing observation of Beaufort upon 
the fineness of the evening, or the rugged nature of the road, broke 
the silence. As we emerged from the little mountain pass into the 
open meadow land, the tall and soldier-like figure of Trevyllian 


350 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


was the first object that presented itself ; ho was standing beside 
a little stone cross, that stood above a holy well, and seemed occu- 
pied in deciphering the inscription. He turned at the noise of our 
approach, and calmly waited our coming. His eye glanced quick- 
ly from the features of O’Shaughnessy to those of Baker ; but 
seeming rapidly re-assured as he walked forward, his face at once 
recovered its usual severity and its cold impressive look of stern- 
ness. 

All right,’’ said Beaufort, in a whisper, the tones of which I 
overheard, as he drew near to his friend. Trevyllian smiled in 
return, but did not speak. During the few moments which passed 
in conversation between the seconds, I turned from the spot with 
Baker, and had scarcely time to address a question to him, when 
O’Shaughnessy called out, “ Hollo, Baker ! — come here a moment !” 
The three seemed now in eager discussion for some minutes, when 
Baker walked towards Trevyllian, and saying something, appeared 
to wait for his reply. This being obtained, he joined the others, 
and the moment afterwards came to where I was standing. “ Ypu 
are to toss for first shot, O’Malley. O’Shaughnessy has made that 
proposition, and the others agree that, with two crack marksmen, it 
is perhaps the fairest way. I suppose you have no objection ?” 

‘‘Of course, I shall make none. Whatever O’Shaughnessy de- 
cides for me I am ready to abide by.” 

“ Well, then, as to the distance ?” said Beaufort, loud enough to 
be heard by me where I was standing. O’Shaughnessy’s reply I 
could not catch, but it was evident, from the tone of both parties, 
that some difference existed on the point. 

“Captain Baker shall decide between us,” said Beaufort, at 
length, and they all walked away to some distance. During . all 
the while I could perceive that Trevyllian’s uneasiness and impa- 
tience seemed extreme — he looked from the speakers to the little 
mountain pass, and strained his eyes in every direction. It was 
clear that he dreaded some interruption. At last, unable any long- 
er to control his feelings, he called out, “Beaufort, I say, what the 
devil are we waiting for now ?” 

“ Nothing, at present,” said Beaufort, as he came forward with 
a dollar in his hand. “Come, Major O’Shaughnessy, you shall call 
for your friend.” 

He pitched the piece of money as he spoke, high into the air, 
and watched it as it fell on the soft grass beneath. 

“ Head ! for a thousand,” cried O’Shaughnessy, running over and 
stooping down ; “ and head it is !” 

“You’ve won the first shot,” whispered Baker; “for Heaven’s 
sake, be cool !” 

Beaufort grew deadly pale as he bent over the crown piece, and 
seemed scarcely to have courage to look his friend in the face. 
Not so Trevyllian; he pulled off his gloves without the slightest 
semblance of emotion, buttoned up his well-fitting black frock to 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


351 


the throat, and, throwing a rapid glance around, seemed only eager 
to begin the combat. 

Fifteen paces, and the words ‘ one — two.’ ” 

“ Exactly. My cane shall mark that spot ” 

“Devilish long paces you make them,” said O’Shaughnessy, 
who did not seem to approve of the distance. “ They have some 
confounded advantage in this, depend upon it,” said the major, in 
a whisper, to Baker. 

“ Are you ready ?” inquired Beaufort. 

“ Ready, quite ready !” 

“ Take your ground, then !” 

As Trevyllian moved forward to his place, he muttered some- 
thing to his friend. I did not hear the first part, but the latter 
words which met me were ominous enough — for as I intend to 
shoot him, ’tis just as well as it is.” 

Whether this was meant to be overheard, and intimidate me, I 
knew not ; but its effect proved directly opposite. My firm reso- 
lution to hit my antagonist was now confirmed, and no compunc- 
tious visitings unnerved my arm. As we took our places, some 
little delay again took place, the flint of my pistol having fallen ; 
and thus we remained full ten or twelve seconds, steadily regarding 
each other. At length, O’Shaughnessy came forward, and, putting 
my weapon in my hand, whispered, low, “ Remember you have 
but one chance.” 

“ You are both ready ?” cried Beaufort. 

“ Ready !” 

“ Then, one — Uvo — ” 

The last word was lost in the report of my pistol, which went 
off at the instant. For a second, the flash and smoke obstructed 
my view ; but the moment after, I saw Trevyllian stretched upon 
the ground, with his friend kneeling beside him. My first impulse 
was to rush over, for now all feeling of enmity was buried in most 
heartfelt anxiety for his fate ; but, as I was stepping forward, 
O’Shaughnessy called out, “ Stand fast, boy, he’s only wounded !” 
and the same moment he rose slowly from the ground, with the 
assistance of his friend, and looked with the same wild gaze around 
him. Such a look ! I shall never forget it ; there was that intense 
expression of searching anxiety, as if he sought to trace the out- 
lines of some visionary spirit as it receded before him : quickly 
re-assured, as it seemed, by the glance he threw on all sides, his 
countenance lighted up, not with pleasure, but with a fiendish 
expression of revengeful triumph, which even his voice evinced as 
he called out, — “ It’s my turn now.” 

I felt the words in their full force, as I stood silently awaiting 
my death-wound ; the pause was a long one: twice did he interrupt 
his friend, as he was about to give the word, by an expression of 
suffering, pressing his hand upon his side, and seeming to writhe 
with torture : yet this was mere counterfeit. 


352 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


CFShaughnessy was now coming forward to interfere and pre- 
vent these interruptions, when Trevy Ilian called out, in a firm tone, 

Fm ready The words “ one, two,” the pistol slowly rose, 

his dark eye measured me coolly, steadily ; his lip curled, and just 
as I felt that my last moment of life had arrived, a heavy sound of 
a horse galloping along the rocky causeway seemed to take off his 
attention. His frame trembled, his hand shook, and, jerking up- 
wards his weapon, the ball passed high above my head. 

‘‘You bear me witness, I fired in the air,” said Trevyllian, while 
the large drops of perspiration rolled from his forehead, and his 
features worked, as if in a fit. 

“ You saw it, sir, and you, Beaufort, my friend, — you also, — 
speak ! Why will you not speak ?” 

“ Be calm, Trevyllian ; be calm, for Heaven’s sake. What’s the 
matter with you ?” 

“ The affair is then ended,” said Baker, “ and most happily so. 
You are, I hope, not dangerously wounded.” 

As he spoke, Trevyllian’s features grew deadly livid ; his half- 
open mouth quivered slightly ; his eyes became fixed, and his arm 
dropped heavily beside him, and, with one low, faint moan, he fell 
fainting to the ground. 

As we bent over him, I now perceived that another person had 
joined our party : he was a short, determined-looking man, of about 
forty, with black eyes and aquiline features. Before I had time 
to guess who it might be, I heard O’Shaughnessy address him as 
Colonel Conyers. 

“ He is dying !” said Beaufort, still stooping over his friend, 
whose cold hand he grasped within his own : “ poor, poor fel- 
low !” 

“ He fired in the air,” said Baker, as he spoke in reply to a 
question from Conyers : what he answered I heard not ; but Baker 
rejoined, 

“ Yes, I am certain of it. We all saw it.” 

“ Had you not better examine his wounds ?” said Conyers, in a 
tone of sarcastic irony, I could almost have struck him for. 

“ Is your friend not hit? perhaps, he is bleeding?” 

“Yes,” said O’Shaughnessy, “let us look to the poor fellow 
now.” So saying, with Beaufort’s aid, he unbuttoned his frock, 
and succeeded in opening the waistcoat : there was no trace of 
blood anywhere, and the idea of internal hemorrhage at once oc- 
curred to us. When Conyers, stooping down, pushed me aside, 
saying, at the same time, “ Your fears for his safety need not dis- 
tress you much : look here.” As he spoke, he tore open his shirt, 
and disclosed to our almost doubting senses a vest of chain 
mail armour, fitting close next the skin, and completely pistol- 
proof. 

1 cannot describe the effect this sight produced upon us. Beau- 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


353 


fort sprang to his feet with a bound, as he screamed out, rather than 
spoke, No man believes me to have been aware 

‘‘ No, no, Beaufort ; your reputation is very far removed from 
such a stain,” said Conyers. 

O’Shaughnessy was perfectly speechless ; he looked from one to 
the other, as though some unexplained mystery still remained, and 
only seemed restored to any sense of consciousness as Baker said, 
“ I can feel no pulse at his wrist : his heart too, does not beat.” 
Conyers placed his hand upon his bosom, then felt along his 
throat, lifted up an arm, and, letting it fall heavily upon the ground, 
he muttered, “ He is dead.” 

It was true. No wound had pierced him : the pistol bullet was 
found within his clothes. Some tremendous conflict of the spirit 
within, had snapped the cords of life, and the strong man had 
perished in his agony. 


45 


2 G 2 


364 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


CHAPTER LXIIL 

NEWS FROM GALWAY. 

I HAVE but a vague and most imperfect recollection of the events 
which followed this dreadful scene ; for some days my faculties 
seemed stunned and paralyzed, and my thoughts clung to the 
minute detail of the ground — ^the persons about — the mountain 
path — and most of all, the half-stifled cry that spoke the broken 
heart, with a tenacity that verged upon madness. 

A court-martial was appointed to inquire into the affair ; and 
although I have been since told that my deportment was calm, and 
my answers were firm and collected, yet I remember nothing of 
the proceedings. 

The inquiry, through a feeling of delicacy for the friends of him 
who was no more, was made as brief and as private as possible. 
Beaufort proved the facts, which exonerated me from any im- 
putation in the matter ; and upon the same day, the court de- 
livered the decision, “that Lieutenant O’Malley was not guilty 
of the charges preferred against him, and that he should be re- 
leased from arrest, and join his regiment.” 

Nothing could be more kind and considerate than the conduct of 
my brother officers ; a hundred little plans and devices for making 
me forget the late unhappy event were suggested and practised : 
and I look back to that melancholy period, marked, as it was, by 
the saddest circumstance of my life, as one in which I received 
more of truly friendly companionship, than even my palmiest days 
of prosperity boasted. 

While, therefore, I deeply felt the good part my friends were 
performing towards me, I was still totally unsuited to join in the 
happy current of their daily pleasures and amusements : the gay 
and unreflecting character of O’Shaughnessy — the careless merri- 
ment of my brother officers, jarred upon my nerves, and rendered 
me irritable and excited ; and I sought in lonely rides, and unfre- 
quented walks, the peace of spirit, that calm reflection, and a firm 
purpose for the future rarely fail to lead to. 

There is, in deep sorrow, a touch of the prophetic. It is at sea- 
sons when the heart is bowed down with grief, and the spirit 
wasted with suffering, that the veil which conceals the future 
seems to be removed, and a glance, short and fleeting as the light- 
ning flash, is permitted us, into the gloomy valley before us. 

Misfortunes, too, come not singly— the seared heart is not suf- 
fered to heal from one affliction, ere another succeeds it; and this 
anticipation of the coming evil, is, perhaps, one of the most poig- 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


355 


nant feature of grief— the ever watchful apprehension — the ever 
rising question, ‘‘What next?’^ is a torture that never sleeps. 

This was the frame of my mind for several days after I returned 
to my duty, — a morbid sense of some threatened danger being my 
last thought at night, and my first on awakening. I had not heard 
from home since my arrival in the Peninsula : a thousand vague 
fancies haunted me now, that some brooding misfortune awaited 
me. My poor uncle never left my thoughts. Was he well, — was 
he happy ? Was he, as he ever wished to be, surrounded by the 
friends he loved, — the old familiar faces, around the hospitable 
hearth, his kindliness had hallowed in my memory as something 
sacred ? 0 ! could I but see his manly smile, or hear his voice ! 

Could I but feel his hand upon my head, as he was wont to press 
it, while words of comfort fell from his lips, and sunk into my 
heart ! 

Such were my thoughts one morning, as I sauntered from my 
quarters alone and unaccompanied. I had not gone far, when my 
attention was aroused by the noise of a mule cart, whose jingling 
bells and clattering timbers announced its approach by the road I 
was walking. Another turn of the way brought it into view ; and 
I saw from the gay costume of the driver, as well as a small orange 
flag which (Jecorated the conveyance, that it was the mail cartj 
with letters from Lisbon. 

Full as my mind was with thoughts of home, I turned hastily 
back, and retraced my steps towards the camp. When I reached 
the adjutant-generaPs quarters, I found a considerable number of 
oflicers assembled ; the report that the post had come was a rumour 
of interest to all, and accordingly every moment brought fresh 
arrivals, pouring in from all sides, and eagerly inquiring “ if the 
bags had been opened?’’ The scene of riot, confusion, and excite- 
ment when that event did take place, exceeded all belief, each 
man reading his letter half aloud, as if his private aflairs and do- 
mestic concerns must interest his neighbours, amid a volley of ex- 
clamations of surprise, pleasure, or occasionally anger, as the 
intelligence severally suggested, — the disappointed expectants, curs- 
ing their idle correspondents, bemoaning their fate about remittances 
that never arrived, or drafts never honoured, while here and there 
some public benefactor, with an out-spread “ Times,” or “ Chroni- 
cle,” was retailing the narrative of our own exploits in the Penin- 
sula, or the more novel changes in the world of politics, since we 
left England. A cross-fire of news and London gossip ringing on 
every side, made up a perfect Babel, most difficult to form an idea 
of. The jargon partook of every accent and intonation the empire 
boasts of; and from the sharp precision of the North Tweeder to 
the broad doric of Kerry, every portion, almost every county of 
Great Britain had its representative. Here was a Scotch pay- 
master, in a lugubrious tone detailing to his friend the apparently 
not over-welcome news, that Mistress M‘Elwain had just been 


356 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


safely delivered of twins, which, with their mother, were doing as 
well as possible. Here an eager Irishman, turning over the pages 
rather than reading his letter, while he exclaimed to his friend, 

0, the devil a rap she’s sent me. The old story about run- 
away tenants and distress notices — sorrow else tenants seem to do 
in Irelapd than run every half-year.” 

A little apart, some sentimental-looking cockney was devouring 
a very crossed epistle, which he pressed to his lips whenever any one 
looked at him, while a host of others satisfied themselves by read- 
ing in a kind of buzzing undertone, every now and then interrupt- 
ing themselves* with some broken exclamation as commentary — 
such as, of course she will !” — never knew him better !” — “ that’s 
the girl for my money !” — fifty per cent. — the devil !” — and so on. 
At last I was beginning to weary of the scene, and, finding that 
there appeared to be nothing for me, was turning to leave the 
place, when I saw a group of two or three endeavouring to spell the 
address of a letter. 

^‘That’s an Irish post-mark. I’ll swear,” said one, “butwlio 
can make any thing of the name? It’s devilish like Otaheite — 
isn’t it ?” 

“ I wish my tailor wrote as illegibly,” said another ; ‘‘ I’d keep 
up a most animated correspondence with him.” 

Here, O’Shaughnessy, you know something of savage life — 
spell us this word here.” 

Show it here — what nonsense — it’s as plain as the nose on my 
face ! — ^ Master Charles O’Malley, in foreign parts !’ ” 

A roar of laughter followed the announcement, which, at any 
other time, perhaps, I should have joined in, but which now grated 
sadly upon my ruffled feelings. 

Here, Charley, this is for you,” said the major ; and added in 
a whisper — and, upon my conscience, between ourselves, your 
friend, whoever he is, has a strong action against his writing-master 
— devil such a fist ever I looked at!” 

One glance satisfied me as to my correspondent. It was from 
Father Rush, my old tutor. I hurried eagerly from the spot, — and, 
regaining my quarters, locked the door, and with a beating heart 
broke the seal, and began as well as I was able to decipher his 
letter. The hand was cramped and stiffened with age, and the 
bold upright letters were gnarled and twisted like a rustic fence, 
and demanded great patience and much time in unravelling. It 
ran thus : — 

“The Priory, Lady-day, 1809. 

“ My dear Master Charles, 

‘‘ Your uncle’s feet are so big and so uneasy that he can’t write, 
and I am obliged to take up the pen myself, to tell you how we 
are doing here since you left us. And, first of all, the master lost 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


357 


the law-suit in Dublin, all for want of a Gahvay jury ; but they 
don’t go up to town for strong reasons they had ; and the Currano- 
lick property is gone to Ned McManus, and may the devil do him 
good with it ! Peggy Maher left this on Tuesday ; she was com- 
plaining of a weakness ; she’s gone to consult the doctors. I’m 
sorry for poor Peggy. 

Owen McNeil beat the Slatterys out of Portumna on Saturday, 
and Jem, they say, is fractured. I trust it’s true, for he never 
was good, root nor branch, and we’ve strong reasons to suspect 
him for drawing the river with a net at night. Sir Harry Boyle 
sprained his wrist, breaking open his bed-room, that he locked 
when he was inside. The count and the master were laughing 
all the evening at him. Matters are going very hard in the county; 
the people paying their rents regularly, and not caring half as much 
as they used about the real gentry, and the old families. 

We kept your birth-day at the Castle in great style — had the 
militia band from the town, and all the tenants. Mr. James Daly 
danced with your old friend Mary Green, and sang a beautiful 
song ; and was going to raise the devil, but I interfered ; he burnt 
down half the blue drawing-room the last night with his tricks ; 
not that your uncle cares, God preserve him to us — it’s little any 
thing like that would fret him. The count quarrelled with a young 
gentleman in the course of the evening, but found out he was only 
an attorney from Dublin, so he didn’t shoot him, but he was ducked 
in the pound by the people, and your uncle says he hopes they 
have a true copy of him at home, as they’ll never know the 
original. 

“ Peter died soon after you went away, but Tim hunts the dogs 
just as well ; they had a beautiful run last Wednesday, and the 
Lord* sent for him, and gave him a five pound note, but, he says, 
he’d rather see yourself back again than twice as much : they killed 
near the big turnip field, and all went down to see where you 
leaped Badger over the sunk fence ; they call it ‘ Hammersiy’s 
Nose’ ever since. Bodkin was at Ballinasloe the last fair, limping 
about with a stick ; he’s twice as quiet as he used to be, and never 
beat any one since that morning. 

Nelly Guire, at the cross-roads, wants to send you four pair of 
stockings she knitted for you ; and I have a keg of poteen of Bar- 
ney’s own making this two months, not knowing how to send it ; 
may be Sir Arthur himself would like a taste ; he’s an Irishman 
himself, and one we’re proud of, too ! The Maynooth chaps are 
flying all about the country, and making us all uncomfortable, — 
God’s will be done, but we used to think ourselves good enough ! 
Your foster sister, Kitty Doolan, had a fine boy: it’s to be called 
after you ; and your uncle’s to give a christening. He bids me tell 
you to draw on him when you want money, and that there’s £400 

• To excuse Father Rush for any apparent impiety, I must add, that, by the “ Lord,” 
he means “ Lord Clanricarde.” 


358 


CHARLES O^MALLET, 


ready for you now somewhere in Dublin: I forget the name, and 
as he’s asleep I don’t like asking him. There was a droll devil 
down here in the summer that knew you well — a Mr. Webber. 
The master treated him like the lord lieutenant; had dinner par- 
ties for him, and gave him Oliver Cromwell to ride over to Meelish. 
He is expected again for the cock-shooting ; for the master likes 
him greatly. I’m done at last ; for my paper is finished and the 
candle just out : so, with every good wish and every good thought, 
remember your own old friend, “ Peter Rush.” 

P.S.— It’s Smart and Sykes, Fleet Street, has the money. 
Father O’Shaughnessy of Ennis bids me ask if you ever met his 
nephew. If you do, make him sing ‘ Larry McHale :’ I hear it’s 
a treat. 

“ How is Mickey Free going on ? There are three decent young 
women in the parish he promised to marry ; and I suppose he’s 
pursuing the same game with the Portuguese. But he was never 
remarkable for minding his duties. Tell him I am keeping my 
eye on him. “ P. R.” 

Here concluded this long epistle, and, though there were many 
parts I could not help smiling at, yet, upon the whole, I felt sad 
and dispirited. What I had long foreseen and anticipated was 
gradually accomplishing ; the wreck of an old and honoured house ; 
the fall of a name once the watchword for all that was benevolent 
and hospitable in the land. The termination of the law-suit I knew 
must have been a heavy blow to my poor uncle, who, every con- 
sideration of money apart, felt in a legal combat all the enthusiasm 
and excitement of a personal conflict : with him there was less a 
question of to whom the broad acres reverted, so much as whether 
that ‘^scoundrel, Tom Bassett, the attorney at Athlone, should tri- 
umph over us or McManus live in the house as master, where 
his father had officiated as butler.” It was at this his Irish pride 
took offence, and straitened circumstances and narrowed fortunes 
bore little upon him in comparison with this feeling. 

I could see, too, that, with breaking fortunes, bad health was 
making heavy inroads upon him ; and while, with the reckless 
desperation of ruin, he still kept open house, I could picture to my 
self his cheerful eye and handsome smile but ill concealing the slow 
but certain march of a broken heart. 

My position was doubly painful ; for any advice, had I been 
calculated to give it, would have seemed an act of indelicate inter- 
ference from one who was to benefit by his own counsel; and, 
although I had been reared and educated as my uncle’s heir, I had 
no title nor pretension to succeed him other than his kind feelings 
respecting me. I could, therefore, only look on in silence, and 
watch the painful progress of our downfall without a power to 
arrest it. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


359 


These were sad thoughts, and came when my heart was already 
bowed down with its affliction. That my poor uncle might be 
spared the misery which sooner or later seemed inevitable, was 
now my only wish ; that he might go down to the grave without 
the imbittering feelings which a ruined fortune and a fallen house 
bring home to the heart, was all my prayer. Let him but close 
his eyes in the old wainscotted bedroom, beneath the old roof 
where his fathers and grandfathers have done so for centuries. Let 
the faithful followers he has known since his childhood, stand round 
his bed : while his fast-failing sight recognises each old and well 
remembered object, and the same bell which rung its farewell to 
the spirit of his ancestors, toll for him — the last of his race ; and as 
for me, there was the wide world before me, and a narrow resting- 
place would suffice for a soldier’s sepulchre. 

As the mail cart was returning the next day to Lisbon, I imme- 
diately sat down and replied to the worthy father’s letter : speak- 
ing as encouragingly as I could of my own prospects. I dwelt 
much upon what was nearest my heart, and begged of the good 
priest to watch over my uncle’s health, to cheer his spirits, and 
support his courage ; and that I trusted the day was not far distant 
when I should be once more amongst them, with many a story of 
fray and battle field to enliven their fire-sides; pressing him to 
write frequently to me, I closed my hurried letter, and, having 
despatched it, sat sorrowfully down to muse over my fortunes. 


360 


CHARLES O^MALLEY, 


CHAPTER LXIV. 

AN ADVENTURE WITH SIR ARTHUR. 

The events of the last few days had impressed me with the 
weight of years. The awful circumstances of that evening lay 
heavily at my heart, and, though guiltless of Trevyllian’s blood, the 
reproach that conscience ever carries, when one has been involved 
in a death-scene, never left my thoughts. 

For some time previously I had been depressed and dispirited, 
and the awful shock I had sustained, broke my nerve and unmanned 
me greatly. 

There are times when our sorrows tinge all the colourings of our 
thoughts, and one pervading hue of melancholy spreads like a pall 
upon what we have of fairest and brightest on earth. So was it 
now : I had lost hope and ambition — a sad feeling that my career 
was destined to misfortune and mishap, gained hourly upon me ; 
and all the bright aspirations of a soldier’s glory — all my enthu- 
siasm for the pomp and circumstance of glorious war, fell coldly 
upon my heart ; and I looked upon the chivalry of a soldier’s life 
as the empty pageant of a dream. 

In this sad frame of mind I avoided all intercourse with my 
brother officers — their gay and joyous spirits only jarred upon my 
brooding thoughts, and, feigning illness, I kept almost entirely to 
my quarters. 

The inactivity of our present life weighed also heavily upon me. 
The stirring events of a campaign — the march, the bivouac, the 
piquet, calls forth a certain physical exertion that never fails to 
re-act upon the torpid mind. 

Forgetting all around me, I thought of home ; I thought of those 
whose hearts I felt were now turning towards me, and considered 
within myself how I could have exchanged the home — the days of 
peaceful happiness there, for the life of misery and disappointment 
I now endured. 

A brooding melancholy gained daily more and more upon me. 
A wish to return to Ireland—^ vague and indistinct feeling that 
my career was not destined for aught of great and good, crept upon 
me, and I longed to sink into oblivion, forgotten and forgot. 

I record this painful feeling here, while it is still a painful 
memory, as one of the dark shadows that cross the bright sky of 
our happiest days. 

Happy, indeed, are they, as we look back to them, and remem- 
ber the times we have pronounced ourselves ‘‘ the most miserable 
of mankind.” This, somehow, is a confession we newer make later 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


361 


on in life, when real troubles and true afflictions assail us. 
Whether we call in more philosophy to our aid, or that our senses 
become less acute and discerning. Pm sure I know not. 

As for me, I confess by far the greater portion of my sorrows 
seemed to come in that budding period of existence when life is 
ever fairest and most captivating. Not, perhaps, that the fact was 
really so, but the spoiled and humoured child, whose caprices were 
a law, felt heavily the threatening difficulties of his first voyage. 
While, as he continued to sail over the ocean of life, he braved the 
storm and the squall, and felt only gratitude for the favouring 
breeze that wafted him upon his course. 

What an admirable remedy for misanthropy is the being placed 
in a subordinate condition in life. Had I, at the period I write, 
been Sir Arthur Wellesley — had I even been Marshal Beresford, 
to all certainty Pd have played the very devil with his majesty’s 
forces. Pd have brought my rascals to where they’d have been 
well peppered. That’s certain. 

But as, luckily for the sake of humanity in general, and the Avell 
neing of the service in particular, I was merely Lieutenant O’Mal- 
ley, 14th Light Dragoons — the case was very different. With what 
heavy censure did I condemn the commander of the forces, in my 
own mind for his want of daring and enterprise. Whole nights 
did I pass endeavouring to account for his inactivity and lethargy. 
Why he did not seriatim fall upon Soult, Ney, and Victor, anni- 
hilate the French forces, and sack Madrid, I looked upon as little 
less than a riddle ; and yet there he waited, drilling, exercising, 
and foraging, as if we were at Hounslow. Now, most fortunately 
here again, I was not Sir Arthur. 

Something in this frame of mind, I was taking one evening a 
solitary ride some miles from the camp. Without noticing the 
circumstance, I had entered a little mountain tract, when, the 
ground being broken and uneven, I dismounted and proceeded 
afoot, with the bridle within my arm. I had not gone far when 
the clatter of a horse’s hoofs came rapidly towards me, and, 
though there was something startling in the pace over such a piece 
of road, I never lifted my eyes as the horseman came up, but 
continued my slow progress onwards, my head sunk upon my 
bosom. 

‘‘ Holloa, sir,” cried a sharp voice, whose tones seemed some- 
how not heard for the first time. I looked up, saw a slight 
figure, closely buttoned up in a blue horseman’s cloak, the collar 
of which almost entirely hid his features ; he wore a plain cocked 
hat without a feather, and was mounted upon a sharp, wiry-look- 
ing hack. 

“ Holloa, sir ! What regiment do you belong to ?” 

As I had nothing of the soldier about me, save a blue foraging 
cap, to denote my corps, the tone of the demand was little calcu 
lated to elicit a very polished reply; but, preferring as most imper 
tinent to make no answer, I passed on without speaking. 

46 2 H 


362 


CHARLES O^MALLEY. 


Did you hear, sir cried the same voice in a still louder key. 
“What’s your regiment?” 

I now turned round, resolved to question the other in turn, 
when, to my inexpressible shame and confusion, he had lowered 
the collar of his cloak, and I saw the features of Sir Arthur 
Wellesley. 

“ Fourteenth Light Dragoons, sir,” said I, blushing as I spoke. 

“ Have you not read the general order, sir? Why have you left 
the camp ?” 

Now I had not read a general order, nor even heard one for 
above a fortnight. So I stammered out some bungling answer. 

“ To your quarters, sir, and report yourself under arrest. What’s 
your name ?” 

“ Lieutenant O’Malley, sir.” 

“ Well, sir, your passion for rambling shall be indulged. You 
shall be sent to the rear with despatches ; and, as the army is in 
advance, probably the lesson may be serviceable.” So saying, he 
pressed spurs to his horse, and was out of sight in a moment. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


363 


CHAPTER LXV. 

TALAVERA. 

Having been despatched to the rear with orders for General 
Crawford, I did not reach Talavera till the morning of the 28 th. 
Two days’ hard fighting had left the contending armies still face to 
face, and without any decided advantage on either side. 

When I arrived upon the battle-field the combat of the morning 
was over. It was then ten o’clock, and the troops were at break- 
fast, if the few ounces of wheat, sparingly dealt out amongst them, 
could be dignified by that name. All was, however, life and ani- 
mation on every side : the merry laugh, the passing jest, the care- 
less look, bespoke the free and daring character of the soldiery, as 
they sat in groups upon the grass; and, except when a fatigue 
party passed by, bearing some wounded comrade to the rear, no 
touch of seriousness rested upon their hardy features. The morn- 
ing was indeed a glorious one ; a sky of unclouded blue stretched 
above a landscape unsurpassed in loveliness. Far to the right 
rolled on in placid stream the broad Tagus, bathing in its eddies 
the very walls of Talavera, the ground from which, to our position, 
gently undulated across a plain of most fertile richness, and termi- 
nated on our extreme left in a bold height, protected in front by a 
ravine, and flanked by a deep and rugged valley. 

The Spaniards occupied the right of the line, connecting with 
our troops at a rising ground, upon which a strong redoubt had 
been hastily thrown up. The fourth division and the guards were 
stationed here, next to whom came Cameron’s brigade and the 
Germans; Mackenzie and Hill holding the extreme left of all, 
which might be called the key of our position. In the valley 
beneath the latter were picketted three cavalry regiments, among 
which I was not long in detecting my gallant friends of the twenty- 
third. 

As I rode rapidly past, saluting some old familiar face at each 
moment, I could not help feeling struck at the evidence of the 
desperate battle that so lately had raged there. The whole surface 
of the hill was one mass of dead and dying, the bear skin of the 
French grenadier lying side by side with the tartan of the High- 
lander. Deep furrows in the soil showed the track of the furious 
cannonade, and the terrible evidences of a bayonet charge were 
written in the mangled corpses around. 

The fight had been maintained without any intermission from 
daybreak till near nine o’clock that morning, and the slaughter on 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


36 ^ 

both sides was dreadful ; the mounds of fresh earth on every side 
told of the soldier’s sepulchre, and the unceasing tramp of the 
pioneers struck sadly upon the ear, as the groans of the wounded 
blended with the funeral sounds around them. 

In front were drawn up the dark legions of France ; massive 
columns of infantry, with dense bodies of artillery alternating 
along the line. They, too, occupied a gently rising ground ; the 
valley between the two armies being crossed halfwa^T- by a little 
rivulet, and here, during the sultry heat of the morning, the troops 
on both sides met and mingled to quench their thirst ere the trum- 
pet again called them to the slaughter. 

In a small ravine, near the centre of our line, were drawn up 
Cotton’s brigade, of whom the fusileers formed a part. Directly 
in front of this were Campbell’s brigade, to the left of which, upon 
a gentle slope, the staff were now assembled. Thither, accordingly, 
I bent my steps, and, as I came up the little scarp, found myself 
among the generals of division, hastily summoned by Sir Arthur 
to deliberate upon a forward movement. The council lasted 
scarcely a quarter of an hour, and, when I presented myself to 
deliver my report, all the dispositions for the battle had been de- 
cided upon, and the commander of the forces, seated upon the grass 
at his breakfast, looked by far the most unconcerned and uninte- 
rested man I had seen that morning. 

He turned his head rapidly as I came up, and, before the aid-de- 
camp could announce me, called out; — 

‘^Well, sir, what news of the reinforcements?” 

“ They cannot reach Talavera before to-morrow, sir.” 

Then, before that we shall not want them. That will do, sir.” 

So saying, he resumed his breakfast, and I retired, more than 
ever struck with the surprising coolness of the man upon whom no 
disappointment seemed to have the slightest influence. 

I had scarcely rejoined my regiment, and was giving an account 
to my brother officers of my journey, when an aid-de-camp came 
galloping at full speed down the line, and communicating with 
the several commanding officers as he passed. 

What might be the nature of the orders we could not guess at ; 
for no word to fall in followed, and yet it was evident something 
of importance was at hand. Upon the hill where the staff* were 
assembled no unusual bustle appeared, and we could see the grey 
cob of Sir Arthur still being led up and down by the groom, with 
a dragoon’s mantle thrown over him. The soldiers, overcome by 
the heat and fatigue of the morning, lay stretched around upon the 
grass, and every thing bespoke a period of rest and refreshment. 

‘‘We are going to advance, depend upon it,” said a young officer 
beside me ; “the repulse of this morning has been a smart lesson 
to the French, and Sir Arthur won’t leave them without impress- 
ing it upon them.” 

“ Hark, what’s that ?” cried Baker ; “ listen.” 


THE IIIISH DRAGOON. 


365 


As he spoke, a strain of most delicious music came wafted across 
the plain. It was from the band of a French regiment, and, mel- 
lowed by the distance, it seemed in the calm stillness of the morn- 
ing air, like something less of earth than heaven. As we listened, 
the notes swelled upwards yet fuller; and one by one the different 
bands seemed to join, till at last the whole air seemed full of the 
rich flood of melody. 

We could now perceive the stragglers were rapidly falling back, 
while, high above all other sounds, the clanging notes of the trum- 
pet were heard along the line. The hoarse drum now beat to 
arms, and, soon after, a brilliant staff rode slowly from between 
two dense bodies of infantry, and, advancing some distance into 
the plain, seemed to reconnoitre us. A cloud of Polish cavalry, 
distinguished by their long lances and floating banners, loitered in 
the rear. 

We had not time for further observation, when the drums on 
our side beat to arms, and the hoarse cry, Fall in, fall in there, 
lads resounded along the line. 

It was now one o’clock, and before half an hour the troops had 
resumed the position of the morning, and stood silent and anxious 
spectators of the scene before them. 

Upon the table land, near the centre of the French position, we 
could descry the gorgeous tent of King Joseph, around which a 
large and splendidly accoutred staff were seen standing. Here, 
too, the bustle and excitement seemed considerable, for to this 
point the dark masses of the infantry seemed converging from the 
extreme right, and here we could perceive the royal guards and 
the reserve now forming in column of attack. 

From the crest of the hill down to the very valley, the dark, dense 
ranks extended, the flanks protected by a powerful artillery and 
deep masses of heavy cavalry. It was evident that the attack was 
not to commence on our side, and the greatest and most intense 
anxiety pervaded us as to what part of our line was first to be 
assailed. 

Meanwhile, Sir Arthur Wellesley, who, from the height, had 
been patiently observing the field of battle, despatched an aid-de- 
camp at full gallop towards Campbell’s brigade, posted directly in 
advance of us. As he passed swiftly along, he called out, ‘‘You’re 
in for it, fourteenth. You’ll have to open the ball to-day.” 

Scarcely were the words spoken, when a signal gun from the 
French boomed heavily through the still air. The last echo was 
growing fainter, and the heavy smoke breaking into mist, when 
the most deafening thunder ever my ears heard, came pealing 
aioutid us : eighty pieces of artillery had opened upon us, sending 
a very tempest of bullets upon our line, while midst the smoke and 
dust we could see the light troops advancing at a run, followed by 
the broad and massive column in all the terror and majesty of war. 

“ What a splendid attack. How gallantly they come on !” cried 

2 H 2 


366 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


an old veteran officer beside me, forgetting all rivalry in his noble 
admiration of our enemy. 

The intervening space was soon passed, and the tirailleurs falling 
back as the column came on, the towering masses bore down upon 
Campbell’s division with a loud cry of defiance. Silently and 
steadily the English infantry awaited the attack, and, returning the 
fire with one withering volley, were ordered to charge. Scarcely 
were the bayonets lowered, when the head of the advancing column 
broke and fled, while Mackenzie’s brigade, overlapping the flank, 
pushed boldly forward, and a scene of frightful carnage followed : 
for a moment a hand to hand combat was sustained, but the un- 
broken files and impregnable bayonets of the English conquered, 
and the French fled back, leaving six guns behind them. 

The gallant enemy were troops of tried and proved courage, and 
scarce^ had they retreated when they again formed ; but just as 
they prepared to come forward, a tremendous shower of grape 
opened upon them from our batteries, while a cloud of Spanish 
horse assailed them in flank, and nearly cut them in pieces. 

While this was passing on the right, a tremendous attack menaced 
the hill upon which our left was posted. Two powerful columns 
of French infantry, supported by some regiments of light cavalry, 
came steadily forward to the attack. Anson’s brigade were ordered 
to charge. 

Away they went at top speed ; but had not gone above a few 
hundred yards, when they were suddenly arrested by a deep chasm : 
here the German hussars pulled short up ; but the twenty-third 
dashing impetuously forward, a scene of terrific carnage ensued, — 
men and horses rolling indiscriminately together under a withering 
fire from the French squares. Even here, however, British valour 
quailed not ; for Major Francis Ponsonby, forming all who came 
up, rode boldly upon a brigade of French chasseurs in the rear. 
Victor, who from the first had watched the movement, at once 
despatched a lancer regiment against them, and then these brave 
fellows were absolutely cut to atoms; the few who escaped having 
passed through the French columns, and reached Bassecour’s 
Spanish division on the far right. 

During this time, the hill was again assailed, and even more 
desperately than before, while Victor himself led on the fourth 
corps to an attack upon our right and centre. 

The guards waited, without flinching, the impetuous rush of the 
advancing columns ; and when, at length, within a short distance, 
dashed forward with the bayonet, driving every thing before them. 
The French fell back upon their sustaining masses, and, rallying 
in an instant, again came forward, supported by a tremendous fire 
from their batteries. The guards drew back, and the German 
legion, suddenly thrown into confusion, began to retire in disorder. 
This was the most critical moment of the day; for, although suc- 
cessful upon the extreme right and left of our line, our centre was 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


367 


absolutely broken. Just at this moment Gordon rode up to oiii 
brigade : his face was pale, and his look flurried and excited. 

“The forty-eighth are coming: here they are; support them, 
fourteenth.’’ 

These few words were all he spoke ; and the next moment the 
measured tread of a column was heard behind us. On they came 
like one man, their compact and dense formation looking like some 
massive wall. Wheeling by companies, they suffered the guards 
and Germans to retire behind them, and then re-forming into line, 
they rushed forward with the bayonet. Our artillery opened with 
a deafening thunder behind them, and then we were ordered to 
charge. 

We came on at a trot: the guards, who had now recovered their 
formation, cheering us as we proceeded ; the smoke of the cannon- 
ade obscured every thing until we had advanced some distance ; 
but just as we emerged beyond the line of the gallant forty-eighth, 
the splendid panorama of the battle-field broke suddenly upon us. 

“ Charge ! forward !” cried the hoarse voice of our colonel, and 
we were upon them. The French infantry, already broken by the 
withering musketry of our people, gave way before us, and, unable 
to form a square, retired fighting, but in confusion, and with tre- 
mendous loss, to their position. One glorious cheer from left to 
right of our line proclaimed the victory, while a deafening discharge 
of artillery from the French replied to this defiance, and the battle 
was over. Had the Spanish army been capable of a forward 
movement, our success at this moment would have been much 
more considerable ; but they did not dare to change their position, 
and the repulse of our enemy was destined to be all our glory. 
The French, however, suffered much more severely than we did ; 
and, retiring during the night, fell back behind the Alberche, leav- 
ing us the victory and the battle-field. 


368 


CHARLES O^MALLEY, 


CHAPTER LXVI. 

NIGHT AFTER TALAVERA. 

The night which followed the battle was a sad one. Through 
the darkness, and under a fast-falling rain, the hours were spent in 
searching for our wounded comrades amid the heap of slain upon 
the field : and the glimmering of the lanterns, as they flickered far 
and near across the wide plain, bespoke the track of the fatigue 
parties in their mournful round ; while the groans of the wounded 
rose amid the silence with an accent of heart-rending anguish : so 
true was it, as our great commander said, there is nothing more 
sad than a victory, except a defeat.’^ 

Around our bivouac fires, the feeling of sorrowful depression was 
also evident. We had gained a great victory, it was true : we had 
beaten the far-famed legions of France upon a ground of their own 
choosing, led by the most celebrated of their marshals, and under 
the eyes of the emperor’s own brother ; but still we felt all the 
hazardous daring of our position, and had no confidence whatever 
in the courage or discipline of our allies ; and we saw that in the 
very mUee of the battle the efforts of the enemy were directed 
almost exclusively against our line, so confidently did they under- 
value the eflbrts of the Spanish troops. Morning broke at length, 
and scarcely was the heavy mist clearing before the red sunlight, 
when the sounds of fife and drum were heard from a distant part 
of the field. The notes swelled or sunk as the breeze rose or fell, 
and many a conjecture was hazarded as to their meaning, for no 
object Avas well visible for more than a few hundred yards off : 
gradually, however, they grew nearer and nearer, and at length, as 
the air cleared, and the hazy vapour evaporated, the bright scarlet 
uniform of a British regiment was seen advancing at a quick step. 

As they came nearer, the well-known march of the gallant forty- 
third was recognised by some of our people, and immediately the 
rumour fled like lightning, — it is Crawford’s brigade and so it 
was : the noble fellow had marched his division the unparalleled 
distance of sixty English miles in twenty-seven hours. Over a 
burning sandy soil, exposed to a raging sun, without rations, almost 
without water, these gallant troops pressed on in the unwearied 
hope of sharing the glory of the battle-field. One tremendous cheer 
welcomed the head of the column as they marched past, and con 
tinned till the last file had deployed before us. 

As these splendid regiments moved by, we could not help feel- 
ing what signal service they might have rendered us but a few 
hours before; their soldierlike bearing, their high and effective state 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


369 


of discipline, their well-known reputation, were in every mouth ; 
and I scarcely think that any corps who stood the brunt of the 
mighty battle were the subject of more encomium than the brave 
fellows who had just joined us. 

The mournful duties of the night were soon forgotten in the gay 
and buoyant sounds on every side. Congratulations, shaking of 
hands, kind inquiries went round ; and, as we looked to the hilly 
ground where so lately were drawn up in battle array the dark 
columns of our enemy, and where not one sentinel now remained, 
the proud feeling of our victory came home to our hearts with the 
ever thrilling thought, “ What will they say at home 

I was standing amid a group of my brother officers, when I re- 
ceived an order from the colonel to ride down to Talavera for the 
return of our wounded, as the arrival of the commander-in-chief 
was momentarily looked for. I threw myself upon my horse, and, 
setting out at a brisk pace, soon reached the gates. 

On entering the town, I was obliged to dismount and proceed on 
foot. The streets were completely filled with people, treading their 
way among wagons, forage-carts, and sick-litters : here was a 
booth filled with all imaginable wares for sale ; there, a temporary 
gin shop established beneath a broken baggage wagon ; here,, 
might be seen a merry party throwing dice for a turkey or a kid — 
there, a wounded man, with bloodless cheek and tottering step, 
inquiring the road to the hospital ; the accents of agony mingled 
with the drunken chorus, and the sharp crack of the provost-mar- 
shaPs whip was heard above the boisterous revelling of the de- 
bauchee. All w;as confusion, bustle, and excitement. The staff- 
officer, with his flowing plume and glittering epaulettes, wended 
his way on foot amid the din and bustle unnoticed and uncared for; 
while the little drummer amused an admiring audience of simple 
country folk by some wondrous tale of the great victory. 

My passage through this dense mass was necessarily a slow one. 
No one made way for another ; discipline for the time was at ^n 
end, and with it all respect for rank or position. It was what no- 
thing of mere vicissitude in the fortune of war can equal — the wild 
orgies of an army the day after a battle. 

On turning the corner of a narrow street, my attention was at- 
tracted by a crowd which, gathered round a small fountain, seemed, 
as well as I could perceive, to witness some proceeding with a more 
than ordinary interest. Exclamations in Portuguese expressive of 
surprise and admiration, were mingled with English oaths and Irish 
ejaculations, while high above all rose other sounds— the cries of 
some one in pain and suffering ; forcing my way through the dense 
group, I aPlength reached the interior of the crowd, when, to my 
astonishment, I perceived a short, fat, punchy-looking man, stripped 
of his coat and waistcoat, and with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his 
shoulders, busily employed in operating upon a wounded soldier. 
Amputation knives, tourniquets, bandages, and all other imaginable 
47 


370 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


instruments for giving and alleviating torture were strewed about 
him, and, from the arrangement and preparation, it was clear that 
he had pitched upon this spot as an hospital for his patients. While 
he continued to perform his function with a singular speed and 
dexterity, he never for a moment ceased a running fire of small 
talk, now addressed to the patient in particular, now to the crowd 
at large — sometimes a soliloquy to himself, and, not unfrequently, 
abstractedly, upon things in general. These little specimens of 
oratory, delivered in such a place, at such a time, and, not least of 
all, in the richest imaginable Cork accent, were sufficient to arrest 
my steps, and I stopped for some time to observe him. 

The patient, who was a large, powerfully-built fellow, had been 
wounded in both legs by the explosion of a shell, but yet not so 
severely as to require amputation. 

“ Does that plaze you, then ?” said the doctor, as he applied 
some powerful caustic to a wounded vessel, there’s no satisfying 
the like of you. Quite warm and comfortable ye’ll be this morn- 
ing after that. 1 saw that same shell coming, and I called out to 
Maurice Blake, ^by your leave, Maurice, let that fellow pass, he’s 
in a hurry ;’ and, faith, I said to myself, there’s more where you 
came from : you’re not an only child, and I never liked the family, 
— what are ye grinning for, ye brown thieves ?”— this was ad- 
dressed to the Portuguese, — “ There, now, keep the limb quiet and 
easy. Upon my conscience, if that shell fell into ould Lundy 
Foot’s shop this morning, there’d be plenty of sneezing in Sack- 
ville-street. Who’s next?” said he, looking round with an ex- 
pression that seemed to threaten that if no wounded man was 
ready, that he was quite prepared to carve out a patient for him- 
self. Not exactly relishing the invitation, in the searching that 
accompanied it, I backed my way through the crowd, and con- 
tinued my path towards the hospital. 

Here the scene which presented itself was shocking beyond 
belief — frightful and ghastly wounds from shells and cannon shot 
were seen on all sides; every imaginable species of suffering that 
man is capable of, was presented to view ; while, amid the dead 
and dying, operations the most painful were proceeding with a 
haste and bustle that plainly showed how many more waited their 
turn for similar offices. The stairs were blocked up with fresh 
arrivals of wounded naen, and even upon the corridors and landing- 
places, the sick were strewn on all sides. 

I hurried to that part of the building where my own people were, 
and soon learned that our loss was confined to about fourteen 
wounded ; five of them were officers : but, fortunately, we lost not 
a man of our gallant fellows, and Talavera brought us no mourn- 
ing for a comrade to damp the exultation we felt in our victory. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


37) 


CHAPTER LXVIl. 

THE OUTPOST. 

During the three days which succeeded the battle, all things re- 
mained as they were before : the enemy had gradually withdrawn 
all his forces, and our most advanced pickets never came in sight 
of a French detachment. Still, although we had gained a great 
victory, our situation was any thing but flattering. The most 
strenuous exertions of the commissariat were barely sufficient to 
provision the troops ; and we had even already but too much ex- 
perience of how little trust or reliance could be reposed in the most 
lavish promises of our allies. It was true, our spirits failed us not, 
but it was rather from an implicit and never-failing confidence in 
the resources of our great leader, than that any amongst us could 
see his way through the dense cloud of difficulty and danger that 
seemed to envelope us on every side. 

To add to the pressing emergency of our position, we learned on 
the evening of the 31st that Soult was advancing from the north, 
and at the head of fourteen thousand chosen troops in full march 
upon Placentia ; thus threatening our rear, at the very moment too 
when any further advance was evidently impossible. 

On the morning of the first of August, I was ordered with a small 
party to push forward in the direction of the Alberche, upon the 
left bank of which it was reported that the French were again con- 
centrating their forces, and, if possible, to obtain information as to 
their future movements. Meanwhile the army was about to fall 
back upon Oropesa, there to await Soult’s advance, and, if necessary, 
to give him battle, — Cuesta engaging with his Spaniards to secure 
Talavera, with its stores and hospitals, against any present move- 
ment from Victor. 

After a hearty breakfast, and a kind Good-bye !’’ from, my 
brother officers, I set out. My road along the Tagus, for several 
miles of the way, was a narrow path scarped from the rocky ledge 
of the river, shaded by rich olive plantations, that threw a friendly 
shade over us during the noon-day heat. 

We travelled along silently, sparing our cattle from time to time, 
but endeavouring ere nightfall to reach Torrijos, in which village 
we had heard several French soldiers were in hospital. Our in- 
formation leading us to believe them very inadequately guarded, we 
hoped to make some prisoners, from whom the information we 
sought could in all likelihood be obtained. More than once during 
the day our road was crossed by parties similar to our own, sent 
forward to reconnoitre, and, towards evening, a party of the twenty- 


372 - 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


third light dragoons returning towards Talavera, informed us that 
the French had retired from Torrijos, which was now occupied by 
an English detachment, under my old friend O’Shaughnessy. 

I need not say with what pleasure I heard this piece of news, 
and eagerly pressed forward, preferring the warm shelter and 
hospitable board the major was certain of possessing, to the cold 
blast and dripping grass of a bivouac. Night, however, fell fast ; 
darkness, without an intervening twilight, set in, and we lost our 
way. A bleak table land, with here and there a stunted, leafless 
tree, was all that we could discern by the pale light of a new moon. 
An apparently interminable heath, uncrossed by path or foot-track, 
was before us, and our jaded cattle seemed to feel the dreary 
uncertainty of the prospect as sensitively as ourselves— stumbling 
and overreaching at every step. 

Cursing my ill-luck for such a misadventure, and once -more 
picturing to my mind the bright blazing hearth and smoking supper 
I had hoped to partake of, I called a halt, and prepared to pass the 
night. My decision was hastened by finding myself suddenly in a 
little grove of pine trees, whose shelter was not to be despised ; 
besides that, our bivouac fires were now sure of being supplied. 

It was fortunate the night was fine, though dark. In a calm, 
still atmosphere, when not a leaf moved, nor a branch stirred, we 
picketed our tired horses, and, shaking out their forage, heaped up 
in the midst a blazing fire of the fir tree. Our humble supper was 
procured, and even with the still lingering revery of the major and 
his happier destiny, I began to feel comfortable. 

My troopers, who probably had not been flattering their imagina- 
tions with such gourmand reflections and views, sat happily around 
their cheerful blaze, chatting over the great battle they had so 
lately witnessed, and mingling their stories of some comrade’s 
prowess with sorrows for the dead, and proud hopes for the future. 
In the midst, upon his knees beside the flame, was Mike, disputing, 
detailing, guessing, and occasionally inventing — ail his arguments 
only tending to one view of the late victory — ‘‘that it was the 
Lord’s mercy the most of the forty-eighth was Irish, or we wouldn’t 
be sitting there now !” 

Despite Mr. Free’s conversational gifts, however, his audience 
one by one dropped off in sleep, leaving him sole monarch of the 
watch-fire, and — what he thought more of — a small brass kettle 
nearly full of brandy and water. This latter, I perceived, he pro- 
duced when all was tranquil, and seemed, as he cast a furtive 
glance around, to assure himself that he was the only company 
present. 

Lying some yards off, I watched him for about an hour, as he 
sat rubbing his hands before the blaze, or lifting the little vessel to 
his lips ; his droll features ever and anon seeming acted upon by 
some passing dream of former devilments, as he smiled and muttered 
some sentences in an under-voice. Sleep at length overpowered 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


373 


me ; but my last waking thoughts were haunted with a singular 
ditty, by which Mike accompanied himself as he kept burnishing 
the buttons of my jacket before the fire, now and then interrupting 
the melody by a recourse to the copper. 

Well, well; you’re clean enough now, and sure its little good 
brightening you up, when you’ll be as bad to-morrow. Like him ; 
like his father’s son, divil a lie in it. Nothing would serve him but 
his best blue jacket to fight in, as if the French was particular what 
they killed us in. Pleasant trade, upon my conscience ! Well, 
never mind. That’s beautiful sperets, any how. Your health, 
Micky Free ; its yourself that stands to me.” 

“ It’s little for glory I care ; 

Sure ambition is only a fable; 

I’d as soon be myself as Lord Mayor, 

With lashings of drink on the table. 

I like to lie down in the sun 

And drame when my faytures is scorchin’, 

That when I’m too ould for more fun, 

Why, I’ll marry a wife with a fortune. 

“ And, in winter, with bacon and eggs. 

And a place at the turf-fire basking. 

Sip my punch, as I roasted my legs. 

Oh ! the devil a more I’d be asking. 

For I haven’t ajanius for work — 

It was never the gift of the Bradies — 

But I’d make a most ilUgant Turk, 

For I’m fond of tobacco and ladies.” 

This confounded refrain kept ringing through my dream, and 
‘Uobacco and ladies” mingled with my thoughts of storm and 
battle-field, long after their very gifted author had composed himself 
to slumber. 

Sleep, and sound sleep, came at length, and many hours elapsed 
ere I awoke. When I did so, my fire was reduced to its last 
embers. Mike, like the others, had sunk in slumber, and mid the 
gray dawn that precedes the morning, I could just perceive the 
dark shadows of my troopers as they lay in groups around. 

The fatigues of the previous day had so completely overcome 
me, that it was with difficulty I could arouse myself so far. as to 
heap fresh logs upon the fire. This I did, with my eyes half-closed, 
and in that listless, dreamy state, which seems the twilight of 
sleep. 

I managed so much, however, and was returning to my couch 
beneath a tree, when suddenly an object presented itself to my eyes 
that absolutejy rooted me to the spot. At about twenty or thirty 
yards distant, where but the moment before the long line of horizon 
terminated the view, there now stood a huge figure of some ten or 
twelve feet in height — two Leads — which surmounted this coiossal 
personage, moved alternately from side to side; while several arms 


374 


CHARLES o’mALLET^ 

waved loosely to and fro in the most strange and uncouth manner. 
My first impression was, that a dream had conjured up this dis- 
torted image ; but when I had assured myself by repeated pinch- 
ings and shakings that I was really awake, still it remained there. 
T was never much given to believe in ghosts : but even had I been 
so, this strange apparition must have puzzled me as much as ever, 
for it could not have been the representative of any thing I ever 
heard of before. 

A vague suspicion that some French trickery was concerned, 
induced me to challenge it in French, so without advancing a step 
I halloed out, “ Qui va la 

My voice aroused a sleeping soldier, who, springing up beside 
me, had his carbine at the cock ; while, equally thunderstruck with 
myself, he gazed at the monster. 

Da la?^^ shouted I again, and no answer was returned, 
when suddenly the huge object wheeled rapidly around, and with- 
out waiting for any further parley, made for the thicket. 

The tramp of a horse’s feet now assured me as to the nature of 
at least part of the spectacle, when click went the trigger behind 
me, and the trooper’s ball rushed whistling through the brushwood. 
In a moment the whole party were up and stirring. 

This way, lads !” cried I, as, drawing my sabre, I dashed into 
the pine wood. 

For a few moments all was dark as midnight ; but as we pro- 
ceeded further we came out upon a little open space, which com- 
manded the plain beneath for a great extent. 

There it goes,” said one of the men, pointing to a narrow 
beaten path in which the tall figure moved, at a slow and stately 
pace, while still the same wild gestures of heads and limbs con- 
tinued. 

“Don’t fire, men; don’t fire!” I cried; “but follow me,” as I 
set forward as hard as I could. 

As we neared it, the frantic gesticulations grew more and more 
remarkable, while some stray words which we half caught sounded 
like English in our ears. We were now within pistol shot distance, 
when suddenly the horse, for that much at least we were assured 
of, stumbled and fell forward, precipitating the remainder of the 
object headlong into the road. 

In a second we were upon the spot, when the first sounds which 
greeted me were the following, uttered in an accent by no means 
new to me. 

“ Oh ! blessed Virgin ; wasn’t it yourself that threw me in the 
mud, or my nose was done for? Shaugh, Shaugh, my boy, since 
we are taken, tip them the blarney, and say we’re generals of 
division.” 

I need not say with what a burst of laughter I received this very 
riginal declaration. 

“ I ought to know that laugh,” cried a voice I at once knew to 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


375 


be my friend O’Shaughnessy. Are you Charles O’Malley by any 
chance in life ?” 

‘‘ The same, major ; and delighted to meet you ; though, faith, 
we were near giving you a rather warm reception. What in the 
devil’s name did you represent just now ?” 

Ask Maurice, there, bad luck to him. I wish the devil had him 
when he persuaded me into it.” 

Introduce me to your friend,” replied the other, rubbing his 
shins as he spoke. “ Mr. O’Mealey” — so he called me — “ I think; 
happy to meet you : my mother was a Ryan of Killdooley, married 
to a first cousin of your father’s before she took Mr. Quill, my re- 
spected progenitor. I’m Dr. Quill of the forty-eighth, more corri- 
monly called Maurice Quill. Tear and ages ! how sore my back 
is. It was all the fault of the baste, Mr. O’Mealey ; we set out in 
search of you this morning, to bring you back with us to Torrijos, 
but we fell in with a very pleasant funeral at Barcaventer, and 
joined them ; they invited us, I may say, to spend the day, and a 
very jovial day it was. I was a chief mourner, and carried a very 
oig candle through the village, in consideration of as fine a meat 
pie, and as much lush as my grief permitted me to indulge in after- 
wards : but, my dear sir, when it was all finished, we found our- 
selves nine miles from our quarters, and as neither of us were in a 
very befitting condition for pedestrian exercise, we stole one of the 
leaders out of the hearse, — velvet, plumes, and all, and set off home. 

“ When we came upon your party, we were not over clear whe- 
ther you were English or Portuguese, or French ; and that was the 
reason I called out to you, ‘ God save all here,’ in Irish ; your polite 
answer was a shot, which struck the old horse in the knee, and 
although we wheeled about in double quick, we never could get 
him out of his professional habits on the road. He had a strong 
notion he was engaged in another funeral, — as he was very likely 
to be ; and the devil a bit faster than a dead march could we get 
him to, with all our thrashing. Orderly time, for men in a hurry, 
with a whole platoon blazing away behind them ! but long life to 
the cavalry, they merit any thing.” 

While he continued to run on in this manner, we reached our 
watch-fire, when, what was my surprise to discover in my newly 
made acquaintance the worthy doctor I had seen a day or two be- 
fore, operating at the fountain at Talavera. 

Well, Mr. O’Mealey,” said he, as he seated himself before the 
blaze : “ What is the state of the larder ? Any thing savoury — any 
thing drink-inspiring to be had?” 

“ I fear, doctor, my fare is of the very humblest; but still 

‘‘Whatjare the fluids, Charley?” cried the major; ‘^the cruel 
performance I have been enacting on that cursed beast has left me 
in a fever.” 

This was a pigeon pie, formerly,” said Dr. Quill, investigating 
the ruined walls of a pasty ; “ and — ^but come, here’s a duck ; and 


376 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


if my nose deceive me not, a very tolerable ham. Peter — Larry 
— Patsy — What’s the name of your familiar there ?” 

‘‘Mickey — Mickey Free.” 

“ Mickey Free, then : come here, avick ! Devise a little drink, 
my son — not of the weakest — no lemon — hot ! You understand, 
hot ! . That chap has an eye for punch ; there’s no mistaking an 
Irish fellow, nature has endowed them richly — fine features, and a 
beautiful absorbent system ! that’s the gift: just look at him, blow- 
ing up the fire, — isn’t he a picture? Well, O’Mealey, I was fret- 
ting that we hadn’t you up at Torrijos ; we were enjoying life very 
respectably ; we established a little system of small tithes upon fowl 
— sheep — pig’s heads and wine skins, that throve remarlcably for 
the time. Here’s the lush ! Put it down there, Mickey, in the 
middle; that’s right. Your health, Shaugh. O’Mealey, here’s a 
troop to you ; and in the meantime I’ll give you a chaunt.” 

“ Come, ye jovial souls, don’t over the bowl be sleeping, 

Nor let the grog go round like a cripple creeping ; 

If your care comes up — in the liquor sink it, 

Pass along the lush — I’m the boy can drink it 
Isn’t that so, Mrs. Mary Callaghan ? 

Isn’t that so, Mrs. Mary Callaghan ]” 

“ Shaugh, my hearty, this begins to feel comfortable.” 

“ Your man, O’Mealey, has a most judicious notion of punch for 
a small party; and though one has prejudices about a table, chairs, 
and that sort of thing, take my word for it, it’s better than fighting 
the French, any day.” 

“Well, Charley, it certainly did look quite awkward enough the 
other day towards three o’clock, when the legion fell back before 
that French column, and broke the guards behind them.” 

“ Yes, you’re quite right; but I think every one felt that the con- 
fusion was but momentary; the gallant forty-eighth was up in an 
instant.” 

“ Faith ! I can answer for their alacrity,” said the Doctor, “ I was 
making my way to the rear with all convenient despatch, when an 
aid-de-camp called out — 

“ ‘Cavalry coming! take care, forty-eighth.’ 

“‘Left face, wheel! Fall in there, fall in there!’ I heard on 
every side, and soon found myself standing in a square, with Sir 
Arthur himself, and Hill, and the rest of them all around me. 

“ ‘ Steady, men ! Steady, now!’ said Hill, as he rode around 
the ranks, while we saw an awful column of cuirassiers forming 
on the rising ground to our left. 

“ ‘ Here they come!’ said Sir Arthur, as the French came pow- 
dering along, making the very earth tremble beneath them. 

“My first thought was, ‘The devils are mad! and, they’ll ride 
down into us, before they know they’re kilt!’ and, sure enough, 
smash into our first rank they pitched, sabring and cutting all be- 
fore them ; when at last the word ‘ Fire’ was given, and the whole 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 377 

head of the column broke like a shell, and rolled horse over man 
on the earth. 

« ‘Very well done! very well, indeed!’ said Sir Arthur, turning 
as coolly round to me, as if he was asking for more gravy. 

“ ‘ Mighty well done,’ said I, in reply, and resolving not to be 
outdone in coolness, I pulled out my snuff-box and offered him a 
pinch, saying ‘The real thing. Sir Arthur; our own countryman, 
— blackguard.’ 

“ He gave a little grim kind of a smile, took a pinch, and then 
called out, — 

‘ Let Sherbrooke advance !’ while, turning again towards me, 
he said, ‘ Where are your people, colonel ?’ 

‘Colonel!’ thought I; ‘Is it possible he’s going to promote me?’ 
but before I could answer, he was talking to another. Meanwhile, 
Hill came up, and looking at me steadily, burst out with — 

“ ‘Why the devil are you here, sir? Why ain’t you at the 
rear?’ 

“ ‘ Upon my conscience,’ said I, ‘ that’s the very thing I’m 
puzzling myself about this minute ! but if you think it’s pride in 
me, you’re greatly mistaken, for I’d rather the greatest scoundrel 
in Dublin was kicking me down Sackville-street, than be here 
now!’ 

“ You’d think it was fun I was making, if you heard how they 
all laughed. Hill and Cameron and the others, louder than any. 

“ ‘Who is he?’ said Sir Arthur, quickly. 

“ ‘ Dr. Quill, surgeon of the thirty-third, where I exchanged, to 
be near my brother, sir, in the thirty -fourth.’ 

“ ‘A doctor,^a surgeon ! That fellow a surgeon ! Damn him, 
I took him for Colonel Grosvenor ! I say, Gordon, these medical 
officers must be docked of their fine feathers, there’s no knowing 
them from the staff ; look to that in the next general order.’ 

“And sure enough, they left us bare and naked the next morn- 
ing ; and if the French sharpshooters pick us down now, devil 
mend them for wasting powder,' for if they look in the orderly 
books, they’ll find their mistake.” 

“Ah, Maurice, Maurice,” said Shaugh, with a sigh ; “You’ll 
never improve — ^^mu’ll never improve !’ 

“Why the devil would 1?” said he; “Ain’t I at the top of my 
profession — full surgeon — with nothing to expect— nothing to hope 
for? Oh, if I only remained in the light company, what wouldn’t 
I be now?” 

“ Then you were not always a doctor ?” said I. 

“ Upon my conscience I wasn’t,” said he. “When Shaugh knew 
me first, I was the Adonis of the Roscommon militia, with more 
heiresses in my list than any man in the regiment, but Shaugh and 
myself were always unlucky.” 

’“Poor Mrs. Rogers !” said the major, pathetically, drinking off 
his glass and heaving a profound sigh. 

48 2 12 


378 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


^‘Ah, the darling/’ said the doctor; ‘‘if it wasn’t for a jug of 
punch that lay on the hall table, our fortune in life would be very 
different.” 

“True for you, Maurice!” quoth O’Shaughnessy. 

“ I should like much to hear >hat story,” said I, pushing the jug 
briskly round. 

“ He’ll tell it you,” said O’Shaughnessy, lighting his cigar, and 
leaning pensively back against a tree, “he’ll tell it you.” 

“ I will, with pleasure,” said Maurice. “ Let Mr. Free, mean 
time, amuse himself with the punch-bowl, and I’ll relate it.” 

But the relation itself, for reasons mentioned in the following 
page, must be left to our next volume. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


379 


a’iSnSjog. 

Most Kind Public, 

It is now nearly two years since we opened an acquaintance with 
you. With what pleasure to ourselves the intimacy has been cul- 
tivated, we need not repeat here. Your indulgence, your good 
nature, your untiring kindness, have been present with us through 
every page we wrote ; and, whether our heart was heavy or our 
spirits light, towards you we had but one feeling — the deepest 
gratitude for all your favours, with an ardent wish to preserve 
them to the last. 

A hundred times have we asked ourselves. Why were you 
pleased with us, and for what ? — which among the characters of 
our veracious history had taken your fancy, and wherefore? 

Have you sympathized in the Irish waywardness and reckless 
good-nature of Fred Power ? Have you felt for the unmerited sor- 
rows of the fair Dalrymples? Have you warmed with generous 
enthusiasm for the moral sentiments and pious effusions of Mon- 
soon ? Or have you smiled at the vagrant fancies and cunning con- 
ceits of Mickey Free ? Alas, we know not. We are merely aware, 
upon the whole, that you are not altogether weary of us: but 
which is the attraction of the piece, which the star of our company, 
w.e are totally ignorant. 

Such were our wandering thoughts as we sat beside our Christ- 
mas fire, and in a bumper of our oldest and raciest, pledged you — 
ay, your own excellent self — as the best of patrons and most kind 
of masters. Many a passing thought of friendly import suggested 
itself, as we puzzled our brains how we best might testify our 
gratitude at this season of mutual good wishes. Many a plan pre- 
sented itself in turn, and in turn was rejected, as far too weak for 
the expression of our feelings; when, suddenly, the current of our 
thoughts received a sad and fatal shock, which, while it rendered 
our present desire unattainable, only promised to lay us under 
deeper obligations for the future. 

The misfortune we allude to was briefly this — 

In a fire which took place in Dublin on the morning of the 2d 
of January, the whole of the premises in which the printing of our 
book was carried on, were burned to the ground. The violence of 
the flames-even melted the very type in the flames ; and where a 
tall and goodly building had stood but yesterday, a mouldering and 
smoking ruin now marks the spot. In this sad conjuncture, our 
first thought was for the proprietor, an upright and industrious 
man, whose Calamity is a most heavy one. His property was, we 


380 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


believe, uninsured, and the loss involves great part of that compe- 
tence which years of toil and labour had accumulated. 

Our next regret — believe us, it came after a long interval — was 
for ourselves. Our own misfortunes — nothing in comparison with 
his — consisted in the loss of our MSS. The record of our cam- 
paigns — our days of battle and nights of bivouac met the fate of 
many worthier pages, and were utterly consumed. 

It is needless to express our regrets for the mishap ; and, indeed, 
we should not have obtruded our sorrows upon you, were it not 
that an apology is requisite to account for our maimed and imper- 
fect appearance. The melting pathos that was destined to stir your 
bosom, the merry tale we calculated on for a laugh, the song we 
hoped youM sing, are lost to us forever ; and the heavy plash of 
the ‘‘ Sun” and the Phoenix” have done more to extinguish oiir 
fire, than, unhappily, they have effected for that of our printer. 

It is but poor sport to tell you what deeds of prowess we effect- 
ed, what battles we braved, what skirmishes we fought, how Mon- 
soon preached and Mike chanted, how Power laughed and 
O’Shaughnessy blundered. Alas, and alas, the record was not 
fated to elicit laughter ; and the only tears it called forth, came from 
the fire-engines. 

That we were about to become most interesting, most witty, 
most moving, and most melancholy, we are ready to swear before 
any justice in the commission ; that any thing we had hitherto 
done was as nothing compared to what we had in store, we solemnly 
adjure ; and we entreat you to believe, what we ourselves are con- 
vinced of, that what we held in reserve was the whole force of our 
history. 

Lend us, then, most amiable reader, all your spare' sympathy ; 
the compliments of the season, despite the temperature we write 
in, have been far too warm for us, and we must be excused desir- 
ing “many returns of them for the future.” 

Meanwhile our worthy publisher, who has as much compassion 
for a burnt MS. as the steward of a steamer has for the sufferings 
of a passenger, bids us be of “ good cheer.” 

“Never mind it,” quoth he. “IPs provoking, to be sure; but 
come out with a capital number in February, and they’ll think 
nothing of it.” 

They — meaning you, my Public, — you’ll think nothing of what ? 
Of what took us months to indite, — of Mike’s songs, of which no 
copies are in existence, — of the various sayings and doings, thoughts, 
acts, and opinions of Messrs. Monsoon, Power, Webber, Quill, 
O’Shaiighnessy and Co., who are at this moment scattered here and 
there about the globe, and, except Monsoon, not a man of them to 
be bribed by hock or hermitage to recount a single incident of their 
lives. 

Some of our characters have grown serious, and don’t like this 
mention of them at all. Others are married, and have vixenish 


the IRISH DRAGOON. 


3S1 


wives, highly indignant at the early pranks of their venerable 
partners. Many want to write their own adventures, and don’t 
fancy our poaching over their manor; and not a few are diners-out, 
depending for their turtle and claret upon the very stories we have 
been giving you this year past. 

Notwithstanding all these obstacles we are told “not to mind it.” 
“A capital No. — plenty of drollery — none of your long yarns about 
the Douro, but fun — Irish fun — Mickey Free and Monsoon — that’s 
what we want.” Confound the man ! does he think we’re invent- 
ing our life ? does he suppose we are detailing a fictitious and not 
a real history ? No, no ; there is no one better than himself aware 
that our characters are real people, who, however little pleased 
they may be at being painted at all, will never condescend to be 
caricatured. Never did a man stand more stoutly upon his prero- 
gative, and resolutely reject all advances, till he gently hinted that 
our very amiable friend, Frank Webber, had offered himself to 
complete the volume, — this threat was really too much for us, and 
we knocked under. 

The next question was as to time. It was impossible for us at a 
moment to rewrite our lost pages ; and, in our distress, we sought 
the aid and assistance of our literary friends ; among others, the 
talented author of “Darnley” and “The Gipsy.” He came to our 
succour with a readiness no less a proof of his friendship than his 
genius ; and in a story of intense interest and great beauty, has 
done much to console us. It is now before us; we intend also that 
it should be before you. 

Though little apology is necessary, that having invited you to 
partake of tough mutton, we have presented you with racy venison, 
and though well knowing that when enjoying “James,” you have 
no regrets for “ Harry,” we deem it only respectful towards you, 
or fitting in us to explain what has occurred, and to add that, before 
the next period of appearing before you, we shall have done every 
thing in our power to recover the true web of our narrative. 

Here, then, you have our story and our apology — while we 
earnestly entreat you to believe none genuine except signed by 
Charles O’Malley. There is no reliance to be placed in the many 
versions abroad. It is not true that our book is pronounced “doubly 
hazardous,” by the Insurance Companies, and not acceptable under 
a “ parson premium ;” there is no truth in the story that the fire 
was a malicious act, originating among the junior bar ; there is no 
truth in the statement that a gigantic and powerful individual in- 
terposed his strong arm to prevent the engines playing upon the 
manuscript-room, declaring at the time, that he “should see us 
burned to a^hes.” 

We cannot conclude without publicly testifying our gratitude to 
O’Shaughnessy. He arrived here post from Strasburgh, the mo- 
ment he heard of our mishap, and has been administering every 
comfort and consolation in his power. 


382 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


It’s maybe the best thing ever happened you, Charley. It’s 
truth Pm telling you — hear me out. My father — God rest him — 
had two pounds ten in French’s notes, when the bank broke, and 
to the hour of his death, he never paid a creditor, always alleging 

if it hadn’t been for that d d bank, he’d not owe sixpence ! 

Take the hint, my boy. If they complain that you’re dull, — that 
you are growing prosy and tiresome, — that Monsoon is a bore, and 
yourself not much better, tell them it’s all the fault of the fire; and 
if you manage it well, the excuse will las.t your lifetime.” 

Let me now conclude with this assurance, while I forestall the 
moral of my friend James’s beautiful story, and assure you that I 
feel a fire can be a happy incident ; for, had not my pages been 
burnt, I should never have been able to present you with his. 

I am most respectfully and faithfully yours, 

Charles O’Malley. 

Brussels, Jan. 18, 1841. 


TO G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ. 

Hotel de Regence. 

With a scrap of note paper, just saved from the flames, 

I sit down to write you a line, my dear James, 

And explain, if I’m able my spirits to rally. 

The misfortune that’s happened to poor Charles O’Malley 
In Ireland, where once they were proud of their learning, 
They’ve taken, of late years, to roasting and burning ; 

And, not satisfied now with destroying a parson, 

They’ve given a poor author a touch of their arson. 

About these good people I rarely was critical. 

Seldom religious, and never political ; 

I neither subscribed to the “ Post” nor the “ Mail,” 

Nor cried, “No Surrender,” nor “Up with Repale.” 

Though I’ve listened to arguments over and over, 

I’ve confounded M‘HaIe with the King of Hanover ; 

And never by chance could find out what they mean. 

When asked, if I didn’t like blue before green ; 

In a word, my dear friend, — I confess, as a man— 

I relished Young Butt, and admired too old Dan. 

They were Irishmen both — not a touch of the Norman, 

No more than great Nicholas Purcell O’Gorman. 

From Kinsale to the Causeway — Athlone or Armagh — 

They are Paddies all over, from Erin go bragh; 

I loved the gay fellows, and cared not a crown, 

Did .they sing “Bloody Billy,” or “ Croppies lie down;” 

As ready with one as the other to tope, 

To cry, “Down with the Church,”— “ Bloody end to the Pope.” 
They might wear in their neckcloth pea-green or sky-blue. 
Provided their hearts were but honest and true ; 

And, however whigs, tories, and radicals talk. 

Like the leaves of the shamrock, they spring from one stalk ; 
They ve their root in the soil, and they wish not to sever, 

But adorn the hills of their country forever. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


383 


But, at last, to come back, for I’m sure you suppose 
Fve lost, in digressing, all sight of my woes. 

And forget how the devil — the printer’s, I say — 

Set fire to my book on the last New Year’s Day ; 

And, just as the ribbonmen treated old Kinsela, 

They roasted the heroes that fought the Peninsula. 

They left not a character living for me, 

Frank Webber, and Power, and poor Mickey Free, 

And even the “ Dais,” and the Major Monsoon, 

They sent up in fragments, as high as the moon — 

On my conscience, they finished the Irish Dragoon ! 

Not a man could escape, nor lie hid in a nook. 

The wretches, they even laid hands on the “ Duke 
And from what I have heard — this between me and you — 

He shone full as bright as at great Waterloo; 

And though firemen played, like some journals we’d name, 
They could not extinguish one spark of his fame, 

As when rising on high, and upon earth no more he 
Illumined the land of his birth with his glory. 

But to come back once more — these eternal digressions 
Are like record appeals from the last quarter sessions, 

Where the judges wish both sides were fast in the stocks. 

And the jury are all sound asleep in the box — 

They’ve burnt my book — not a story nor sally. 

Not a love-scene, nor fight, now remains of O’Malley ; 

Not a battle or bivouac, ever you’ll see. 

Nor even a chaunt from our friend Mickey Free. 

» # * » * , ' 

» » • » * 

So, with labouring brain, and with faculties turning, 

I sit trying to find out a cause for this burning — 

Was it some scheme of a clique, or a closet 1 or 
Was it the fault of a drowsy compositor] 

Was it some story with which I’ve been rash in'? 

Or was it some foe to my good friend M‘Gla8han 1 
Was it Otway or Carleton, or was it Sam Lover'? 

Alas, I’m afraid I shall never discover. 

I don’t think it true, but it’s whispered to me. 

That Moore had grown jealous of poor Mickey Free, 

For he sings his own songs — when he’s asked out to tea. 

But come over, dear friend, and partake of my prog. 

And suggest what to do for an unlucky dog ; 

Who never gives way long to grief and to sorry care. 

For somehow they but ill suit your friend, 

HaRRT LoRREaUER. 



t 


384 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


JAMES’S ANSWER. 

VOLUME THE FIRST. 

My Dear Lorrequer, 

When I received your note, the sun was shining as brightly as 
if it had been summer, and on the golden background of the even- 
ing sky the thin tracery of the leafless twigs was finely marked, 
ofiering many a beautiful form and graceful line, though the foli- 
age of a brighter season had departed. They were like the memo- 
ries of hopes long passed away; and I could not help thinking, as 
I read the account of what had befallen you, that you, like those 
bare branches, — though you had lost one crop of leaves in this un- 
timely manner, might very soon produce another as fertile of hope 
as those which were gone. The news of the burning of the print- 
ing-house, and the loss it occasioned you grieved me deeply, but 
did not surprise me in the least. I have always expected it ; for 
who would doubt that, affer you had gone on eating fire so long, 
fire would some time or another turn round and eat you. Besides, 
my dear Lorrequer, there is something so very inflammatory in 
your nature, that I wonder any printer would let your sheets within 
his door. No one ever speaks of you without finding iduas of 
combustion naturally suggest themselves : and the wife of a great 
general, in describing to me, the other day, a visit you had paid 
her with a worthy gentleman from Scotland, said, that it was the 
strongest contrast she had ever seen, for he burned like a port-fire, 
while you went off like a skyrocket. Why, your good and your 
bad qualities all tend to the same effect, and your very books are 
enough to make a man call a fire-engine. Warm-hearted though 
you be, you cannot deny that you are as fiery as a box of lucifers, 
and have been in a flame of one Ifind or another all your life ; and 
when we take into consideration your flashy wit, and your blazing 
style, I cannot but think that the printer who takes in your MS. 
without warning his neighbours, might be indicted for a nuisance. 
1 have a strong notion that you are Swing, in disguise, so lay the 
fault upon nobody but yourself. 

However, let me see if I can give you some consolation ; and, first, 
in the true style of all comforters, let me try to persuade you, that 
a great misfortune is the best possible thing that could happen to 
you. After all is done and over, my good friend, a fire is not so 
bad a thing. You may say, ‘^granted; a small quantity of the ele- 
ment; but that one may have too much of a good thing. That a 
fire in a grate is a good thing in its way, but a house on fire is to 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


385 


be avoided, when possible.” Still, however, I hold to my text and 
reply, that a house on fire is not always so bad a thing as people 
think. I recollect a very sweet girl being saved from drowning in 
the middle of the Atlantic, by a house on fire. Come, I will tell 
you the story, and that shall be — 


VOLUME THE SECOND. 

“There was once a great banker in London, who had a very fine 
house in Portland Place, and a very dirty old house in the city; 
and if the latter looked the image of business and riches, the former 
looked the picture of luxury and display. He himself was a mild 
man, whose ostentation was of a quiet, but not the less of an active 
kind. His movements were always calm and tranquil, and his 
clothes plain ; but the former were stately, the latter were in the 
best fashion. Holditch was his coachmaker in those days ; Ude’s 
first cousin was his cook; his servants walked up stairs to announce 
a visitor to the tune of the Dead March in Saul, and opened bath, 
valves of the folding-doors at once with a grace that could only be 
acquired by long practice. Every thing seemed to move in his 
house by rule, and nothing was ever seen to go wrong. All the 
lackeys wore powder, and the women-servants had their caps 
prescribed to them. His wife was the daughter of a country gentle- 
man of very old race, a woman of good manners and a warm heart. 
Though there were two carriages always at her especial command, 
she sometimes walked on her feet, even in London, and would not 
suffer an account of her parties to find its way into the ‘ Morning 
Post.’ The banker and his wife had but one child, a daughter, 
and a very pretty and very sweet girl she was as ever my eyes saw. 
She was not very tall, though very beautifully formed, and exqui- 
sitely graceful. She was the least affected person that ever was 
seen ; for, accustomed from her earliest days to perfect ease in 
every respect, — denied nothing that was virtuous and right, — 
taught by her mother to estimate high qualities, — too much habitu- 
ated to wealth to regard it as an object, — and too frequently brought 
in contact with rank to estimate it above its value, — she had nothing 
to covet, and nothing to assume. Her face was sweet and thought- 
ful, though the thoughts were evidently cheerful ones, and her 
voice was full of melody and gentleness. Her name was Alice 
Herbert, and she was soon the admired of all admirers. People 
looked for her at the opera and the park, declared her beautiful, 
adorable, divine ; she became the wonder, the rage, the fashion ; 
and every bgdy added, when they spoke about her, that she would 
have half a million at the least. Now, Mr. Herbert himself was 
not at all anxious that his daughter should marry any of the men 
that first presented themselves, because none of them were above 
the rank of a baron : nor was Mrs. Herbert anxious either, because 
49 a K 


386 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


she did not wish to part with her daughter ; nor was Alice her- 
self, — I do not know well why, — perhaps she thought that a part 
of the men who surrounded her were fops, and as many were 
libertines, and the rest were fools, and Alice did not feel more inclined 
to choose out of those three classes than her father did out of the 
three inferior grades of our nobility. There was, indeed, a young 
man in the Guards, distantly connected with her mother’s family, 
who was neither fop, libertine, nor fool, — a gentleman, an accom- 
plished man, and a man of good feeling, who was often at Mr. 
Herbert’s house, but father, mother, and daughter, all thought him 
quite out of the question : the father, because he was not a duke ; 
the mother, because he was a soldier ; the daughter, because he 
had never given her the slightest reason to believe that he either 
admired or loved her. As he had some two thousand a year, he 
might have been a good match for a clergyman’s daughter, but 
could not pretend to Miss Herbert. Alice certainly liked him bet- 
ter than any man she had ever seen, and once she found his eyes 
fixed upon her from the other side of a ball-room with an expres- 
sion that made her forget what her partner was saying to her. The 
colour came up into her cheek, too, and that seemed to give Henry 
Ashton courage to come up, and ask her to dance. She danced 
with him on the following night, too ; and Mr. Herbert, who re- 
marked the fact, judged that it would be but right to give Henry 
Ashton a hint. Two days after, as Alice’s father was just about 
to go out, the young guardsman himself was ushered into his library, 
and the banker prepared to give his hint, and give it plainly, too. 
He was saved the trouble, however; for Ashton’s first speech was, 
‘ I have come to bid you farewell, Mr. Heroert. We are ordered 
to Canada, to put down the evil spirit there. I set out in an hour 
to take leave of my mother, in Staffordshire, and then embark with 
all speed.’ 

‘‘ Mr. Herbert economized his hint, and wished his young friend 
all success. ‘ By the way,’ he added, ‘ Mrs. Herbert may like to 
write a few lines by you to her brother at Montreal. You know 
he is her only brother : he made a sad business of it, what with 
building and planting, and farming, and such things. So I got him 
an appointment in Canada just that he might retrieve. She would 
like to write, I know. You will find her up stairs. I must go out 
myself. Good fortune attend you.’ 

Good fortune did attend him, for he found Alice Herbert alone 
in the very first room he entered. There was a table before her, 
and she was leaning over it, as if very busy, but when Henry 
Ashton approached her, he found that she had been carelessly 
drawing wild leaves on a scrap of paper, while her thoughts were 
far away. She coloured when she saw him, and was evidently 
agitated ; but she was still more so when he repeated what he had 
told her father. She turned red, and she turned pale, and she sat 
still, and she said nothing. Henry Ashton became agitated himself. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


387 


‘ It is all in vain,’ he said to himself. ^ It is all in vain. 1 know her 
father too well and he rose, asking where he should find her 
mother. 

“ Alice answered, in a faint voice, ‘ in the little room beyond the 
back drawing-room.” 

“ Henry paused a moment longer ; the temptation was too great 
to be resisted ; he took the sweet girl’s hand ; he pressed it to his 
lips, and said, ‘ Farewell, Miss Herbert ! farewell ! I know I shall 
never see any one like you again ; but, at least, it is a blessing to 
have known you — though it be but to regret that fortune has not 
favoured me still farther ! farewell ! farewell !’ 

Henry Ashton sailed for Canada, and saw some service there. 
He distinguished himself as an officer, and his name was in several 
despatches. A remnant of the old chivalrous spirit made him often 
think, when he was attacking a fortified village, or charging a body 
of insurgents, ‘Alice Herbert will hear of this !’ but often, too, he 
would ask himself, ‘ I wonder if she be married yet ?’ and his com- 
panions used to jest with him upon always looking first at the wo- 
man’s part of the newspaper ; the births, deaths, and marriages. 

“ His fears, if we can venture to call them such, were vain. Alice 
did not marry, although, about a year after Henry Ashton had 
quitted England, her father descended a little from his high ambi- 
tion, and hinted that if she thought fit, she might listen to the young 

Earl of . Alice was not inclined to listen, and gave the 

earl plainly to understand that she was not inclined to become his 
countess. The earl, however, persevered, and Mr. Herbert now 
began to add his influence ; but Alice was obdurate, and reminded 
her father of a promise he had made, never to press her marriage 
with any one. Mr. Herbert seemed more annoyed than Alice ex- 
pected, walked up and down the room in silence, and on hearing 
it, shut himself up with Mrs. Herbert for nearly two hours. What 
took place Alice did not know ; but Mrs. Herbert from that moment 
looked grave and anxious. Mr. Herbert insisted that the earl 
should be received at the house as a friend, though he urged his 
daughter no more ; and balls and parties succeeded each other so 
rapidly, that the quieter inhabitants of Portland Place wished the 
banker and his family, where Alice herself ^wished to be — in 
Canada. In the mean time, Alice became alarmed for her mother, 
whose health was evidently suffering from some cause ; but Mrs. 
H 3 rbert would consult no physician, and her husband seemed 
never to perceive the state of weakness and depression into which 
she was sinking. Alice resolved to call the matter to her father’s 
notice, and as he now went out every morning at an early hour, 
she rose one day sooner than usual, and knocked at the door of his 
dressing-roolii. There was no answer, and, unclosing the door, she 
looked in to see if he were already gone. The curtains were still 
drawn, but through them some of the morning beams found their 
way, and by the dim sickly light, Alice beheld an object that made 


388 


CHARLES o’mALLET, 


her clasp her hands and tremble violently. Her father’s chair 
before the dressing-table was vacant ; but beside it lay, upon the 
floor, something like the figure of a man asleep. Alice approached, 
with her heart beating so violently that she could hear it ; and 
there was no other sound in the room. She knelt down beside 
him : it was her father. She could not hear him breathe, and she 
drew back the curtains. He was as pale as marble, and his eyes 
were open, but fixed. She uttered not a sound, but with wild 
eyes gazed round the room, thinking of what she should do. Her 
mother was in the chamber, at the side of the dressing-room ; but 
Alice, thoughtful, even in the deepest agitation, feared to call her, 
and rang the bell for her father’s valet. The man came and raised 
his master, but Mr. Herbert had evidently been dead some hours. 
Poor Alice wept terribly, but still she thought of her mother, and 
she made no noise, and the valet was silent too ; for, in lifting the 
dead body to the sofa, he had found a small vial, and was gazing 
on it intently. 

‘ I had better put this away. Miss Herbert,’ he said at length, 
in a low voice ; ‘ I had better put this away before any one else 
comes.’ 

Alice gazed at the vial with her tearful eyes. It was marked 
‘ Prussic acid ! poison !’ 

This was but the commencement of many sorrows. Though 
the coroner’s jury pronounced that Mr. Herbert had died a natural 
death, yet every one declared he had poisoned himself, especially 
when it was found that he had died utterly insolvent. That all 
his last great speculations had failed, and that the news of his ab- 
solute beggary had reached him on the night preceding his decease. 
Then came all the horrors of such circumstances to poor Alice and 
her mother ; the funeral ; the examination of the papers ; the sale 
of the house and furniture ; the tiger claws of the law rending open 
the house in all its dearest associations ; the commiseration of 
friends ; the taunts and scoffs of those who had envied and hated 
in silence. Then for poor Alice herself, came the last worse blow, 
the sickness and deathbed of a mother; sickness and death in 
poverty. The last scene was just over ; the earth was just laid 
upon the coffin of » Mrs. Herbert, and Alice sat with her eyes drop- 
ping fast, thinking of the sad ‘ What next when a letter was 
given to her, and she saw the handwriting of her uncle in Canada. 
She had written to him on her father’s death, and now he answered 
full of tenderness and affection, begging his sister and niece instantly 
to join him in the new land which he had made his country. All 
the topics of consolation which philosophy ever discovered or de- 
vised to soothe man under the manifold sorrows and cares of life 
are not worth a blade of rye-grass in comparison with one word 
of true affection. It was the only balm that Alice Herbert’s heart 
could have received, and though it did not heal the wound, it tran 
quillized its aching. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


389 


“Mrs. Herbert, though not rich, had not been altogether portion- 
less, and her small fortune was all that Alice now condescended to 
call her own. There had been, indeed, a considerable jointure, but 
that Alice renounced with feelings that you will understand. 
Economy, however, was now a necessity, and after taking a pas- 
sage in one of the cheapest vessels she could find bound for Quebec 
— a vessel that all the world has heard of, named the St. Law- 
rence — she set out for the good city of Bristol, where she arrived 
in safety on the 16th day of May, T 8 3-. I must now, however, 
turn to the history of Henry Ashton, and that shall be 


VOLUME THE THIRD. 

“ It was just after the business in Canada was settled that he 
entered a room in Quebec, where several of the officers of his regi- 
ment were assembled in various occupations, — one writing a letter 
to go by the packet which was just about to sail, two looking out 
of the window at the nothing which was doing in the streets, and 
one reading the newspaper. There were three or four other jour- 
nals on the table, and Ashton took up one of them. As usual, he 
turned to the record of the three great things in life, and read, first 
the marriages — then the deaths ; and, as he did so, he saw, ‘ Sud- 
denly, at his house, in Portland Place, William Anthony Herbert, 
Esq.’ The paper did not drop from his hand, although he was 
much moved and surprised ; but his sensations were very mixed ; 
and although, be it said truly, he gave his first thoughts, and they 
were sorrowful, to the dead, the second were given to Alice Her- 
bert, and he asked himself, ‘ Is it possible that she can ever be 
mine ? She was certainly much agitated when I left her !’ 

“‘Here’s a bad business !” cried the man who was reading the 
other newspaper. ‘ The Herberts are all gone to smash, and I had 
six hundred pounds there. You are in for it too, Ashton. Look 
there ! They talk of three shillings in the pound.’ 

“ Henry Ashton took the paper and read the account of all that 
had occurred in London, and he then took his hat and walked to 
head-quarters. What he said or did there is nobody’s business but 
his own ; but certain it is that by the beginning of the very next 
week he was in the gulf of St. Lawrence. Fair winds wafted him 
soon to England ; but in St. George’s channel all went contrary, 
and the ship was knocked about for three days without making 
much way. A fit of impatience had come upon Henry Ashton, 
and when he thought of Alice Herbert and all she must have 
suffered, his heart beat strangely. One of those little incidents oc- 
curred about Ihis time that make or mar men’s destinies. A coast- 
ing-boat from Swansea to Wiston came within hail, and Ashton, 
tired of the other vessel, put a portmanteau, a servant, and himself 
into the little skimmer of the seas, and was in a few hours landed 

2k2 


390 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


safely at the pleasant watering-place of Wiston super mare. It 
wanted yet an hour or two of night, and therefore a postchaise 
was soon rolling the young officer, his servant, and his port- 
manteau towards Bristol, on their way to London. He arrived at 
a reasonable hour, but yet some one of many things that fill inns, 
had happened in Bristol that day, and Henry drove to the Bush, to 
the Falcon, and the Fountain, and several others before he could 
get a place of rest. At length he found two comfortable rooms in 
a small hotel near the port, and had sat down to his supper by a 
warm fire, when an Irish sailor put his head into the room and 
asked if he were the lady that was to go down to the St. Lawrence 
the next day ? Henry Ashton informed him that he was not a 
lady, and that as he had just come from the St. Lawrence, he was 
not going back .again, upon which the man withdrew to seek 
further. 

Ten, eleven, twelve o’clock struck, and Henry Ashton pulled 
off his boots and went to bed. At two o’clock he awoke feeling 
heated and feverish ; and to cool himself he began to think of Alice 
Herbert. He found it by no means a good plan, for he felt warmer 
than before, and soon a suffocating feel came over him, and he 
thought he smelt a strong smell of burning wood. His bed-room 
was one of those unfortunate inn bed-rooms that are placed under 
the immediate care and protection of a sitting-room, which, like a 
Spanish duenna, will let nobody in who does not pass by their 
door. He put on his dressing-gown, therefore, and issued out into 
the sitting-room, and there the smell was stronger : there was a 
considerable crackling and roaring too, which had something alarm- 
ing in it, and he consequently opened the outer door. All he could 
now see was a thick smoke filling the corridor, through which came 
a red glare from the direction of the staircase ; but he heard those 
sounds of burning wood which are not to be mistaken, and in a 
minute after, loud knocking at doors, ringing of bells, and shouts 
of ‘ Fire ! fire !’ showed that the calamity had become apparent to 
the people in the street. He saw all the rushing forth of naked 
men and women which generally follows such a catastrophe, and 
the opening all the doors of the house, as if for the express purpose 
of blowing the fire into a flame. There were hallooings and 
shoutings, there were screamings and tears, and what between the 
rushing sound of the devouring element, and the voice of human 
suffering or fear, the noise was enough to wake the dead. 

“Henry Ashton thought of his portmanteau, and wondered 
where his servant was; but seeing, by a number of people driven 
back from the great staircase by flames, that there was no time to 
be lost, he made his way down by a smaller one, and in a minute 
or two reached the street. The engines by this time had arrived ; 
an immense crowd was gathering together, the terrified tenants of 
the inn were rushing forth, and in the midst Henry Ashton remark 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


391 


ed one young woman wringing her hands and exclaiming, ‘ Oh, 
my poor young mistress ! my poor young lady !’ 

“ ‘ Where is she, my good girl V demanded the young soldier. 

‘ In number eleven,’ cried the girl, ‘ in number eleven ! Her 
bed-room is within the sitting-room, and she will never hear the 
noise.^ 

‘“There she is,’ cried one of the bystanders who overheard; 
‘ there she is, I dare say.’ 

“ Ashton looked up towards the house, through the lower win- 
dows of which the flames were pouring forth ; and, across the case- 
ment which seemed next to the very room he himself had occupied, 
he saw the figure of a woman, in her night dress, pass rapidly. 

‘ A ladder,’ he cried, ‘a ladder, for God’s sake! There is some 
one there, whoever it be ?’ 

“No ladder could be got, and Henry Ashton looked round in 
vain. 

“ ‘ The back staircase is of stone,’ he cried ; ‘ she may be saved 
that way !’ 

“ ‘Ay, but the corridor is on fire,’ said one of the waiters; ‘ you’d 
better not try, sir : it cannot be done.’ 

• “ Henry Ashton darted away ; into the inn ; up the staircase ; 
but the corridor was on fire, as the man had said, and the flames 
rushing up to the very door of the rooms he had lately tenanted. 
He rushed on, however, recollecting that he had seen a side door 
out of his own sitting-room. He dashed in, caught the handle of 
the lock of the side door, and shook it violently, for it was fastened. 

“ ‘ I will open it,’ cried a voice from within, that sounded 
strangely familiar to his ear. 

“ The lock turned — the door opened — and Henry Ashton and 
Alice Herbert stood face to face. 

“ ‘ God of Heaven,’ he exclaimed, catching her in his arms. But 
he gave no time for explanation, and hurried back with her towards 
the door of his own room. The corridor, however, was impassable. 

“ ‘ You will be lost! you will be lost!’ he exclaimed, holding her 
to his heart. 

“ ‘ And you have thrown away your own life to save mine !’ 
said Alice. 

“ ‘ I will die with you, at least !’ replied Henry Ashton ; ‘that is 
some consolation. — But no ! thank God, they have got a ladder — 
they are raising it up — dear girl, you are saved !’ 

“ He felt Alice lie heavy on his bosom, and when he looked 
down, whether it was fear, or the effect of the stifling heat, or hear- 
ing such words from his lips, he found that she had fainted. 

“ ‘ It is as well,’ he said ; ‘ it is as well !’ and, as soon as the lad- 
der was raised, he bore her out, holding her firmly yet tenderly to 
his bosom. There was a death-like stillness below. The ladder 
shook under his feet ; the flames came forth and licked the rounds 
on which his steps were placed ; but steadily, firmly, calmly, the 


392 


CHARLES o’mALLEY. 


young soldier pursued his way. He bore all that he valued on 
earth in his arms, and it was no moment to give one thought to 
fear. 

When his last footstep touched the ground, a universal shout 
burst forth from the crowd, and even reached the ear of Alice her- 
self; but, ere she could recover completely, she was in the comfort- 
able drawing-room of a good merchant’s house, some way further 
down the same street. 

The St. Lawrence sailed on the following day for Quebec, and, 
as you well know, went down in the terrible hurricane which 
swept the Atlantic in the summer of that year, bearing with her, to 
the depths of ocean, every living thing that she had carried out 
from England. But on the day that she weighed anchor, Alice sat 
in the drawing-room of the merchant’s house, with her hand 
clasped in that of Henry Ashton ; and, ere many months were 
over, the tears for those dear beings she had lost, were chased by 
happier drops, as she gave her hand to the man she loved with all 
the depth of first affection, but whom she would never have seen 
again, had it not been for The Fire.” 

Such, my dear Lorrequer, is the story ; and now let us consider 
what can be done to remedy the burning of your new number. 
On my honour, I see nothing for it but to publish the ‘‘O’Malley 
Correspondence” on the subject, with a portrait of the fire-engine, 
and a wood-cut of Fire. 

Tliink of it, my dear fellow, and, whether you take my advice 
or not, believe me ever yours, 

G. P. R. James. 


END OP VOLUME FIRST. 


CHARLES O’MALLEY, 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE doctor’s TALE.^ 

“ It is now some fifteen years since, — if it wasn’t for O’Shaiigh- 
nessy’s wrinkles, I could not believe it five, — we were quartered 
in Loughrea. There were, besides our regiment, the fiftieth and 
the seventy-third, and a troop or two of horse artillery, and the 
whole town was literally a barrack, and, as you may suppose, the 
pleasantest place imaginable. All the young ladies, and indeed 
all those that had got their brevet some years before, came flock- 
ing into the town, not knowing but the devil might persuade a 
raw ensign or so to marry some of them. 

“ Such dinner parties — such routs and balls — never were heard 
of west of Athlone. The gayeties were incessant; and if good 
feeding, plenty of claret, short whist, country dances, and kissing, 
could have done the thing, there wouldn’t have been a bachelor 
with a red coat for six miles around. 

“You know the west, O’Mealey; so I needn’t tell you what 
the Galway girls are like: fine, hearty, free-and-easy, talking, 
laughing devils; but as deep and as ’cute as a master in chancery, — 
ready for any fun or merriment ; but always keeping a sly look- 
out for a proposal or a tender acknowledgment, which — what 
between the heat of a ball-room, whisky negus, white satin 
shoes, and a quarrel with your guardian — it’s ten to one you fall 
into before you’re a week in the same town with them. 

“ As for the men, I don’t admire them so much : pleasant and 

* I cannot permit the reader to fall into the same blunder with regard to the worthy 
“Maurice,” as my friend Charles O’Malley has done. It is only fair to state that the 
doctor in the following tale was hoaxing the “ dragoon.” A braver and a better fellow 
than Quill never^xisted : equally beloved by his brother officers, as delighted in for his 
convivial talents. His favourite amusement was to invent some story or adventure, in 
which, mixing up his own name with that of some friend or companion, the veracity of 
the whole was never questioned. Of this nature was the pedigree he devised in the last 
chapter to impose upon O’Malley, who believed implicitly all he told him. 

HaRRT LoRRSaUEB. 

1 


VoL. II.— 1 


A 


2 


CHARLES o’mALLEY. 


cheerful enough, when they’re handicapping the coat off your 
back, and your new tilbury for a spavined poney and a cotton 
umbrella ; but regular devils if you come to cross them the least 
in life : nothing but ten paces — three shots a piece — to begin and 
end with something like Roger de Coverley, when every one has 
a pull at his neighbour. Pm not saying they’re not agreeable, 
well-informed, and mild in their habits ; but they lean overmuch 
to corduroys and coroners’ inquests for one’s taste farther south. 
However, they’re a fine people, take them ail in all; and, if they 
were not interfered with, and their national customs invaded, with 
road-making, petty sessions, grand jury laws, and a stray com- 
mission now and then, they are capable of great things, and would 
astonish the world. 

But, as I was saying, we were ordered to Loughrea, after 
being fifteen months in detachments about Birr, Tullamore, Kil- 
beggan, and all that country : the change was indeed a delightful 
one ; and we soon found ourselves the centre of the most marked 
and determined civilities. I told you they were wise people in 
the west ; this was their calculation : the line — ours was the Ros- 
common militia — are here to-day, there to-morrow ; they may be 
flirting in Tralee this week, and fighting on the Tagus the next ; 
not that there was any fighting there in those times, but then 
there was always Nova Scotia and St. John’s, and a hundred 
other places that a Galway young lady knew nothing about, 
except that people never came back from them. Now, what 
good, what use was there in falling in love with them? mere 
transitory and passing pleasure that was. But as for us : there 
we were ; if not in Kilkenny, we were in Cork. Safe cut and 
come again ; no getting away under pretence of foreign service ; 
no excuse for not marrying by any cruel pictures of the colonies, 
where they make spatchcocks of the officers’ wives, and scrape 
their infant families to death with a small tooth comb. In a 
word, my dear O’Mealey, we were at a high premium ; and even 
O’Shaughnessy, with his red head and the legs you see, had his 

admirers there now, don’t be angry, Dan, — the men, at least, 

were mighty partial to you. 

Loughrea, if it was a pleasant, was a very expensive place. 
White gloves and car hire, — there wasn’t a chaise in the town, — 
short whist, too, (God forgive me if I wrong them, but I wonder 
were they honest?) cost money; and as our popularity rose, our 
purses fell, till at length when the one was at a flood, the other 
was something very like low water. 

Now, the Roscommon was a beautiful corps, — no petty jea- 
lousies, no little squabbling among the officers, no small spleen 
between the major’s wife and the paymaster’s sister, — all was 
amiable, kind, brotherly, and affectionate. To proceed : I need 
only mention one fine trait of them ; no man ever refused to en- 
dorse a brother officer’s bill. To think of asking the amount, or 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


3 


even the date, would be taken personally ; and thus we went on 
mutually aiding and assisting each other,— the colonel drawing on 
me, I on the major, the senior captain on the surgeon, and so on, 
— a regular cross-fire of ‘ promises to pay,’ all stamped and re- 
gular. 

Not but that the system had its inconveniences; for sometimes 
an obstinate tailor or bootmaker would make a row for his money, 
and then we’d be obliged to get up a little quarrel between the drawer 
and acceptor of the bill : they couldn’t speak for some days ; and 
a mutual friend to both would tell the creditor that the slightest 
imprudence on his part, would lead to bloodshed ; and the Lord 
help him ! — if there was a duel — he’d be proved the whole cause 
of it.” This and twenty other plans were employed, and, finally, 
the matter would be left to arbitration among our brother officers ; 
and, I need not say, they behaved like trumps. But, notwith- 
standing all this, we were frequently hard pressed for cash ; as the 
colonel said, ‘It’s a mighty expensive corps.’ Our dress was costly, 
not that it had much lace and gold on it, but that, what between 
falling on the road at night, shindies at mess, and other devilment, 
a coat lasted no time. Wine, too, was heavy on us ; for, though 
we often changed our wine merchant, and rarely paid him, there 
was an awful consumption at the mess ! 

“Now, what I have mentioned may prepare you for the fact, 
that, before we were eight weeks in garrison, Shaugh and myself, 
upon an accurate calculation of our conjoint finances, discovered 
'fhat, except some vague promises of discounting here and there 
through the town, and seven and fourpence in specie, we were 
innocent of any pecuniary treasures. This was embarrassing ; we 
had both embarked in several small schemes of pleasurable amuse- 
ment ; had a couple of hunters each, a tandem, and a running ac- 
count— I think it galloped — at every shop in the town. 

“ Let me pause for a moment here, O’Mealey, while I moralize 
a little in a strain I hope may benefit you. Have you ever con- 
sidered — of course you have not, you’re too young and unreflect- 
ing — how beautifully every climate and every soil possesses some 
one antidote or another to its own noxious influences. The tropics 
have their succulent and juicy fruits, cooling and refreshing : the 
northern latitudes have their beasts with fur and warm skin to 
keep out the frost-bites, and so it is in Ireland ; nowhere on the 
face of the habitable globe does a man contract such habits of small 
debt, and nowhere, I’ll be sworn, can he so easily get out of any 
scrape concerning them. They have their tigers in the east, their 
antelopes in the south, their white bears in Norway, their buffaloes 
in America ;^but we have an animal in Ireland that beats them all 
hollow— a country attorney ! 

“ Now, let me introduce you to Mr. Matthew Donevan. Mat, 
as he was familiarly called by his numerous acquaintances, was a 
short, florid, rosy little gentleman of some four or five-and-forty, 


4 


CHARLES o’MALLEr, 


with a well curled wig of the fairest imaginable auburn, the gentle 
wave of the front locks, which played in infantine loveliness upon 
his little bullet forehead, contrasting strongly enough with a cun- 
ning leer of his eye, and a certain nisi prius laugh^ that, however 
it might please a client, rarely brought pleasurable feelings to his 
opponent in a cause. 

‘‘ Mat was a character in his way : deep, double, and tricky in 
every thing that concerned his profession, he atfected the gay fel- 
low ; liked a jolly dinner at Brown’s hotel ; would go twenty miles 
to see a steeple chase and a coursing match ; bet with any one, 
when the odds were strong in his favour, with an easy indifference 
about money that made him seem, when winning, rather the victim 
of good luck than any thing else. As he kept a rather pleasant 
bachelor’s house, and liked the military much, we soon became 
acquainted. Upon him, therefore, for reasons I can’t explain, both 
our hopes reposed ; and Shaugh and myself at once agreed that, if 
Mat could not assist us in our distresses, the case was a bad one. 

“ A pretty little epistle was accordingly concocted, inviting the 
worthy attorney to a small dinner at five o’clock the next day, 
intimating that we were to be perfectly alone, and had a little 
business to discuss. True to the hour. Mat was there ; and, as if 
instantly guessing that ours was no regular party of pleasure, his 
look, dress, and manner were all in keeping with the occasion, — 
quiet, subdued, and searching. 

When the claret had been superseded by the whisky, and the 
confidential hours were approaching, by an adroit allusion to softie 
heavy wager then pending, we brought our finances upon the tapis. 
The thing was done beautifully; edisy adagio movement — no 
violent transition : but hang me if old Mat didn’t catch the matter 
at once. 

“ ‘ Oh ! it’s there ye are, captain,’ said he, with his peculiar grin ; 

‘ two and sixpence in the pound, and no assets.’ 

“ ‘ The last is nearer the mark, my old boy,’ said Shaugh, blurt- 
ing out the whole truth at once. The wily attorney finished his 
tumbler slowly, as if giving himself time for reflection, and then, 
smacking his lips in a preparatory manner, took a quick survey 
of the room with his piercing green eye. 

“ ' A very sweet mare of yours that little mouse-coloured one is, 
with the dip in the back, and she has a trifling curb — maybe it’s a 
spavin indeed— in the near hind leg. You gave five-and-twenty 
for her, now. I’ll be bound ?’ 

‘ Sixty guineas, as sure as my name’s Dan,’ said Shaugh, not at 
all pleased at the value put upon his hackney; <and, as to spavin 
or curb, I’ll wager double the sum she has neither the slightest 
trace of one or the other.’ 

“ a’ll not take the bet,’ said Mat, dryly; ‘ money’s scarce in these 
parts.’ 

“ This hit silenced us both ; and our friend continued: 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


5 


“ ‘ Then there’s the bay horse, a great, strapping, leggy beast he 
is for a tilbury ; and the hunters, worth nothing here; they don’t 
know this country: them’s neat pistols; and the tilbury is not 
bad ’ 

‘‘‘Confound you!’ said I, losing all patience, ‘we didn’t ask 
you here to appraise our movables ; we want to raise the wind 
without that.’ 

“ ‘ I see — I perceive,’ said Mat, taking a pinch of snuff very 
leisurely as he spoke: ‘I see. Well, that is difficult; very difficult, 
just now. I’ve mortgaged every acre of ground in the two coun- 
ties near us, and a sixpence more is not to be had that way. Are 
you lucky at the races ?’ 

“ ‘ Never win a sixpence.’ 

“ ‘ What can you do at whist ?’ 

“ ‘ Revoke, and get cursed by my partner : devil a more.’ 

“ ‘ That’s mighty bad ; for, otherwise, we might arrange some- 
thing for you. Well, I only see one thing for it; you must marry: 
a wife with some money will get you out of your present difficul- 
ties, and we’ll manage that easily enough.’ 

“ ‘ Come, Dan,’ said I, for Shaugh was dropping asleep, ‘ cheer 
up, old fellow. Donevan has found the way to pull us through 
our misfortunes. A girl with forty thousand pounds, the best cock- 
shooting in Ireland ; an old family, a capital cellar, all await ye : 
rouse up there !’ 

“ ‘ I’m convanient,’ said Shaugh, with a look intended to be 
knowing, but really very tipsy. 

“ ‘ I didn’t say much for her personal attractions, captain,’ said 
Mat ; ‘ nor, indeed, did I specify the exact sum ; but Mrs. Rogers 
, Dooley of Clonakilty might be a princess ’ 

“ ‘ And so she shall be. Mat ; the O’Shaughnessys were kings 
of Ennis in the time of Nero ; and I’m only waiting for a trifle of 
money to revive the title. What’s her name ?’ 

“ ‘ Mrs. Rogers Dooley.’ 

“ ‘ Here’s her health, and long life to her ; 

And may the devil cut the toes 

Of ail her foes, 

That we may know them by their limping.’ 

“This benevolent wish uttered, Dan fell fiat upon the hearth-rug, 
and was sodn sound asleep. I must hasten on ; so need only say, 
that before we parted that night. Mat and myself had finished the 
half-gallon bottle of Loughrea whisky, and concluded a treaty for 
the hand and fortune of Mrs. Rogers Dooley; he being guaranteed 
a very handsome per centage on the property, and the lady being 
reserved — for choice between Dan and myself, which, however, I 
was determined should fall upon my more fortunate friend. 

“ The first object which presented itself to my aching senses the 

A 2 


6 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


following morning, was a very spacious card of invitation from 
Mr. Jonas Malone, requesting me to favour him with the seduc- 
tions of my society the next evening to a ball. At the bottom of 
which, in Mr. Done van’s hand, I read ; — 

‘ Don’t fail ; you know who is to be there. I’ve not been idle 
since I saw you. Would the captain take twenty-five for the 
mare ?’ 

So far so good, thought I, as, entering O’Shaughnessy’s quar- 
ters, I discovered him endeavouring to spell out his card, which, 
however, had no postscript. We soon agreed that Mat should 
have his price ; so, sending a polite answer to the invitation, we 
despatched a still more civil note to the attorney, and begged of 
him, as a weak mark of esteem, to accept the mouse-coloured 
mare as a present. 

“ Here O’Shaughnessy sighed deeply, and even seemed affected 
by the souvenir. 

“ Come, Dan, we did it all for the best.’ 0 ! O’Mealey, he 
was a cunning fellow ; but no matter. We went to the ball, and, 
to be sure, it was a great sight. Two hundred and fifty souls, 
where there was not good room for the odd fifty : such laughing, 
such squeezing, such pressing of hands and waists in the staircase ! 
and then such a row and a riot at the top, — four fiddles, a key 
bugle, and a bagpipe, playing, ‘ Haste to the wedding,’ amid the 
crash of refreshment trays, the tramp of feet, and the sounds of 
merriment on all sides !’ 

It’s only in Ireland, after all, people have fun : old and young, 
merry and morose, the gay and cross-grained, are crammed iOto a 
lively country dance ; and, ill-matched, ill-suited, go jigging away 
together to the blast of a bad band, till their heads, half turned by 
the noise, the heat, the novelty, and the hubbub, they all get as 
tipsy as if they were really deep in liquor. 

Then there is that particularly free-and-easy tone in every one 
about ; here go a couple capering daintily out of the ball-room to 
take a little fresh air on the stairs, where every step has its own 
separate flirtation party ; there, a riotous old gentleman, with a 
boarding-school girl for his partner, has plunged smack into a party 
at loo, upsetting cards and counters, and drawing down curses in- 
numerable. Here are^ merry knot round the refreshments, and 
well they may be ; for the negus is strong punch, and the biscuit 
is tipsy cake, — and all this with a running fire of good stories, 
jokes, and witticisms on all sides, in the laughter for which even 
the droll-looking servants join as heartily as the rest. 

We were not long in finding out Mrs. Rogers, who sat in the 
middle of a very high sofa, with her feet just touching the floor. 
She was short, fat, wore her hair in a crop, had a species of shining 
yellow skin, and a turned up nose, all of which were by no means 
prepossessing. Shaugh and myself were too hard-up to be parti- 
cular, and so we invited her to dance alternately for two consecu- 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


7 


live hours, plying her assiduously with negus during the lulls in 
the music. 

“ Supper was at last announced, and enabled us to recruit for 
new efforts ; and so, after an awful consumption of fowl, pigeon- 
pie, ham, and brandy cherries, Mrs. Rogers brightened up consi- 
derably, and professed her willingness to join the dancers. As for 
us, partly from exhaustion, partly to stimulate our energies and in 
some degree to drown reflection, we drank deep, and when we 
reached the drawing-room, not only the agreeable guests them- 
selves, but even the furniture, the venerable chairs and the stiff 
old sofa seemed performing ‘ Sir Roger de Coverley.’ How we 
conducted ourselves till five in the morning, let our cramps confess; 
for we were both bed-ridden for ten days after ; however, at last, 
Mrs. Rogers gave in ; and, reclining gracefully upon a window- 
seat, pronounced it a most elegant party, and asked me to look for 
her shawl. While I perambulated the staircase with her bonnet 
on my head, and more wearing apparel than would stock a maga- 
zine, Shaugh was roaring himself hoarse in the street, calling Mrs. 
Rogers’s coach. 

‘ Sure, captain,’ said the lady, with a tender leer, ‘ it’s only a 
chair.’ 

‘ And here it is,’ said I, surveying a very portly looking old se- 
dan, newly painted and varnished, that blocked up half the hall. 

‘‘ ‘ You’ll catch cold, my angel,’ said Shaugh in a whisper, for he 
was coming it very strong by this ; ‘ get into the chair. Maurice, 
can’t you find those fellows ?’ said he to me ; for the chairmen had 
gone down stairs, and were making very merry among the servants. 

‘ She’s fast now,’ said I, shutting the door to. ‘ Let us do the 
gallant thing, and carry her home ourselves.’ Shaugh thought this 
a great notion ; and, in a minute, we mounted the poles, and sallied 
forth, amid a great chorus of laughing from all the footmen, maids, 
and tea-boys that filled the passage. 

‘ The big house, with the bow windows and the pillars, cap- 
tain ?’ said a fellow, as we issued upon our journey. 

‘ I know it,’ said I. ‘ Turn to the left after you pass the square.’ 

“ ‘ Isn’t she heavy ?’ said Shaugh, as he meandered across the 
narrow streets with a sidelong motion, that must have suggested 
to our fair inside passenger some notions of a sea voyage. In truth, 
I must confess, her progress was rather a devious one ; now zig- 
zagging from side to side ; now getting into a sharp trot, and then 
suddenly pulling up at a dead stop, or running tlie machine chuck 
against a wall, to enable us to stand still and gain breath. 

“ ‘ Which way now ?’ cried he, as we swung round the angle of 
a street, and entered the large market place ; ‘ I’m getting terribly 
tired.’ 

‘ Never give in, Dan ? think of Clonakilty, and the old lady her- 
self,’ — and here I gave the chair a hoist that evidently astonished our 
fair friend ; for a very imploring cry issued forth immediately after. 


8 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


^ To the right, quick step, forward — charge V cried I ; and we 
set off at a brisk trot down a steep narrow lane. 

^ Here it is now : the light in the window ; cheer up V 

“ As I said this, we came short up to a fine portly looking door- 
way, with great stone pillars and cornice. 

‘‘ ‘ Make yourself at home, Maurice,’ said he ; ‘ bring her in 
and so saying we pushed forward — for the door was open — and 
passed boldly into a great flagged hall, silent and cold, and dark as 
the night itself. 

‘ Are you sure we’re right ?’ said he. 

“ ‘ All right,’ said I, ‘go a-head.’ 

“ And so we did till we came in sight of a small candle that 
burned dimly at a distance from us. 

“ ‘ Make for the light,’ said I ; but just as I said so, Shaugh 
slipped and fell flat on the flagway ; the noise of his fall sent up a 
hundred echoes in the silent building, and terrified us both dread- 
fully ; and, after a minute’s pause, by one consent, we turned and 
made for the door, falling almost at every step, and frightened out 
of our senses, we came tumbling together into the porch, and out 
in the street, and never drew breath till we reached the barracks. 
Meanwhile, let me return to Mrs. Rogers. The dear old lady, who 
had passed an awful time since she left the ball, had just rallied out 
of a fainting fit when we took to our heels ; so, after screaming 
and crying her best, she at last managed to open the top of the 
chair, and, by dint of great exertions, succeeded in forcing the door 
and at length freed herself from bondage. She was leisurely gro- 
ping her way round it in the dark, when her lamentations being 
heard without, woke up the old sexton of the chapel — for it was 
there we placed her — who, entering cautiously with a light, no 
sooner caught a glimpse of the great black sedan and the figure 
beside it, than he also took to his heels, and ran like a madman to 
the priest’s house. 

“ ‘ Come, your reverence, come, for the love of marcy ! sure 
didn’t I see him myself! 0 wirra, wirra !’ 

“ ‘ What is it, ye ould fool ?’ said M‘Kenny. 

“ ‘ It’s Father Con Doran, your reverence, that was buried last 
week, and there he is up now, coffin and all ! saying a midnight 
mass as lively as ever.’ 


“ Poor Mrs. Rogers, God help her ! It was a trying sight for her, 
when the priest and the two coadjutors, and three little boys and 
the sexton, all came in to lay her spirit ; and the shock she received 
that night, they say, she never got over. 

“Need I say, my dear O’Mealey, that our acquaintance with 
Mrs. Rogers was closed. The dear woman had a hard struggle 
for it afterwards ; her character was assailed by all the elderly la- 
dies in Loughrea, for going off in our company, and her blue satin 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


9 


twenty different reports to mystify the world — and even ten pounds 
spent in masses for the eternal repose of Father Con Doran only 
increased the laughter this unfortunate affair gave rise to. As for 
us, we exchanged into the Line, and foreign service took us out of 
the road of duns, debts, and devilment, and we soon reformed, and 
eschewed such low company.” 

The day was breaking ere we separated, and, amid the rich and 
fragrant vapours that exhaled from the earth, the faint traces of 
sunlight dimly stealing, told of the morning. My two friends set 
out for Torrijos, and I pushed boldly forward in the direction of 
the Alberche. 

It was a strange thing that, although but two days before, the 
roads we were then travelling had been the line of retreat of the 
whole French army, not a vestige of their equipment, nor a trace 
of their materiel had been left behind. In vain we searched each 
thicket by the way side for some straggling soldier, some wounded 
or wearied man : nothing of the kind was to be seen. Except the 
deeply rutted road, torn by the heavy wheels of the artillery, and 
the white ashes of a wood fire, nothing marked their progress. 

Our journey was a lonely one. Not a man was to be met with : 
the houses stood untenanted, the doors lay open; no smoke 
wreathed from their deserted hearths : the peasantry had taken to 
the mountains, and, although the plains were yellow with the ripe 
harvest, and the peach hung temptingly upon the trees, all was 
deserted and forsaken. I had often seen the blackened walls and 
broken rafters, the traces of the wild revenge and reckless pillage 
of a retiring army : the ruined castle, and the desecrated altar, are 
sad things to look upon ; but, somehow, a far heavier depression 
sunk into my heart, as my eye ranged over the wide valleys and 
broad hills, all redolent of comfort, of beauty, and of happiness, 
and yet not one man to say this is my home, these are my house- 
hold gods. The birds corolled gayly in each leafy thicket, the 
bright stream sung merrily as it rippled through the rocks, the tall 
corn gently stirred by the breeze seemed to swell the concert of 
sweet sounds ; but no human voice awoke the echoes there. It 
was as if the earth was speaking in thankfulness to its Maker ; 
while man, ungrateful and unworthy man, pursuing his ruthless 
path of devastation and destruction, had left no being to say, ‘ I 
thank thee for all these.’ 

The day was closing as we drew near the Alberche, and came 
in sight of the-watch fires of the enemy. Far as the eye could 
reach, their column extended; but in the dim twilight nothing 
could be seen with accuracy. Yet from the position their artillery 
occupied, and the unceasing din of baggage wagons, and heavy 
carriages towards the rear, I came to the conclusion that a still 
further retreat was meditated: a picket of light cavalry was posted 

VoL. II.— 2 


10 


CHARLES O'MALLEY, 


upon the river’s bank, and seemed to watch with vigilance the 
approaches to the stream. 

Our bivouac was a dense copse of pine trees, exactly opposite 
to the French advanced posts, and there we passed the night — for 
tunately a calm and star-light one, — for we dared not light fires, 
fearful of attracting attention. 

During the long hours, I lay patiently watching the movements 
of the enemy till the dark shadows hid all from my sight, and 
even then, as my ears caught the challenge of a sentry, or the foot- 
steps of some officer in his round, my thoughts were riveted upon 
them, and a hundred vague fancies as to the future were based 
upon no stronger foundation than the click of a firelock or the 
low-muttered song of a patrol. 

Towards morning I slept, and when day broke, my first glance 
was towards the river side ; but the French were gone — noise- 
lessly — rapidly. Like one man, that vast army had departed ; 
and a dense column of dust towards the horizon alone marked 
the long line of march where the martial legions were retreat- 
ing. 

My mission was thus ended; and, hastily partaking of the 
humble breakfast my friend Mike provided for me, I once more set 
out, and took the road towards head quarters. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


11 


CHAPTER II. 

THE SKIRMISH. 

For several months after the battle of Talavera my life pre- 
sented nothing which I feel worth recording. Our good fortune 
seemed to have deserted us when our hopes were highest ; for 
from the day of that splendid victory, we began our retrograde 
movement upon Portugal. Pressed hard by overwhelming masses 
of the enemy, we saw the fortresses of Ciudad Rodrigo and 
Almeida fall successively into their hands. The Spaniards were 
defeated wherever they ventured upon a battle ; and our own 
troops, thinned by sickness and desertion, presented but a shadow 
of that brilliant army which only a few months previous had 
followed the retiring French beyond the frontiers of Portugal. 

However willing I now am — and who is not? — to recognise the 
genius and foresight of that great man, who then held the destinies 
of the Peninsula within his hands, I confess, at the time I speak 
of, I could ill comprehend and still less feel contented with the 
successive retreats our forces made, and while the words Torres 
Vedras brought nothing to my mind but the last resting place 
before embarkation, the sad fortunes of Corunna were now before 
me, and it was with a gloomy and desponding spirit I followed the 
routine of my daily duty. 

During these weary months, if my life was devoid of stirring 
interest or adventure, it was not profitless. Constantly employed 
at the outposts, I became thoroughly inured to all the roughing 
of a soldier’s life, and learned in the best of schools that tacit 
obedience which alone can form the subordinate, or ultimately fit 
its possessor for command himself. 

Humble and unobtrusive as such a career must ever be, it was 
not without its occasional rewards. From General Crawford I 
more than once obtained most kind mention in his despatches, and 
felt that I was not unknown or unnoticed by Sir Arthur Wellesley 
himself. At that time, these testimonies, slight and passing as 
they were, contributed to the pride and glory of my existence ; 
and, even now, — shall I confess it? — when some gray hairs are 
mingling with the brown, and when my old dragoon swagger 
is taming down into a kind of half-pay shamble, I feel my heart 
warm at the recollection of them. 

Be it so : I care not who smiles at the avowal. I know of little 
better worth remembering as we grow old than what pleased us 
while we were young. With the memory of the kind words once 


12 


CHARLES o’MALLEY, 


spoken, come back the still kinder looks of those who spoke them; 
and, better than all, that early feeling of budding manhood, when 
there was neither fear nor distrust. Alas ! these are the things, 
and not weak eyes and tottering limbs, which form the burden 
of old age. Oh ! if we could only go on believing, go on trust- 
ing, go on hoping to the last, who would shed tears for the by- 
gone feats of his youthful days, when the spirit that evoked them 
lived young and vivid as before ? 

But to my story. While Ciudad Rodrigo still held out against 
the besieging French, its battered walls and breached ramparts 
sadly foretelling the fate inevitably impending, we were ordered, 
together with the sixteenth light dragoons, to proceed to Gallegos, 
to reinforce Crawford’s division, then forming a corps of observa- 
tion upon Massena’s movements. 

The position he occupied was a most commanding one — the 
crown of a long mountain ridge, studded with pine copse, and 
cork trees, presenting every facility for light infantry movements ; 
and here and there gently sloping towards the plain, offering a 
field for cavalry manoeuvres. Beneath, in the vast plain, were 
encamped the dark legions of France, their heavy siege artillery 
planted against the doomed fortress, while clouds of their cavalry 
caracolled proudly before us, as if in taunting sarcasm at our in- 
activity. 

Every artifice which his natural cunning could suggest, every 
taunt a Frenchman’s vocabulary contains, had been used by Mas- 
sena to induce Sir Arthur Wellesley to come to the assistance of 
the beleagured fortress; but in vain. In vain he relaxed the 
energy of the siege, and affected carelessness. In vain he asserted 
in his proclamations that the English were either afraid, or else 
traitors to their allies. The mind of him he thus assailed was nei- 
ther accessible to menace nor to sarcasm. Patiently abiding his 
time, he watched the progress of events, and provided for that 
future which was to crown his country’s arms with success, and 
himself with undying glory. 

Of a far different mettle was the general formed, under whose 
orders we were now placed. Hot, passionate, and impetuous, 
relying upon bold and headlong heroism, rather than upon cool 
judgment and well-matured plans, Crawford felt in war all the 
asperity and bitterness of a personal conflict. Ill brooking the 
insulting tone of the wily Frenchman, he thirsted for any occasion 
of a battle ; and his proud spirit chafed against the colder counsels 
of his superior. 

On the very morning we joined, the pickets brought in the intel- 
ligence that the French patrols were nightly in the habit of visiting 
the villages at the outposts, and committing every species of cruel 
indignity upon the wretched inhabitants. Fired at this daring 
insult, our general resolved to cut them off, and formed two am- 
buscades for the purpose. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


13 


Six squadrons of the fourteenth were despatched to Villa del 
Puerco, three of the sixteenth to Baguetto, while some companies 
of the ninety-fifth, and the cagadores, supported by artillery, were 
ordered to hold themselves in reserve; for the enemy were in force 
at no great distance from us. 

The morning was just breaking as an aid-de-camp galloped up 
with the intelligence that the French had been seen near the Villa 
del Puerco ; a body of infantry and some cavalry having crossed 
the plain, and disappeared in that direction. While our colonel 
was forming us, with the intention of getting between them and 
their main body, the tramp of horses was heard in the wood 
behind, and in a few moments two officers rode up. The foremost, 
who was a short stoutly-built man of about forty, with a bronzed 
face, and eye of piercing black, shouted out as we wheeled into 
column : 

“ Halt, there ! why, where the devil are you going ? that’s your 
ground.” So saying, and pointing straight towards the village 
with his hand, he would not listen to our colonel’s explanation 
that several stone fences and enclosures would interfere with 
cavalry movements, but added, — 

“ Forward, I say ; proceed.” 

Unfortunately, the nature of the ground separated our squadron, 
as the colonel anticipated ; and, although we came on at a topping 
pace, the French had time to form in square upon a hill, to await 
us ; and when we charged they stood firmly, and, firing with a low 
and steady aim, several of our troopers fell. As we wheeled round 
we found ourselves exactly in front of their cavalry, coming out of 
Baguilles ; so, dashing straight at them, we revenged ourselves for 
our first repulse, by capturing twenty-nine prisoners, and wound- 
ing several others. 

The French infantry were, however, still unbroken ; and Colonel 
Talbot rode boldly up with five squadrons of the fourteenth ; but 
the charge, pressed home with all its gallantry, failed also, and the 
colonel fell mortally wounded, and fourteen of his troopers around 
him. Twice we rode round the square seeking for a weak point, 
but in vain ; the gallant Frenchman who commanded. Captain 
Guache, stood fearlessly amid his brave followers ; and we could 
hear him as he called out from time to time, — 

C’est pa, mes enfans ! bien fait, fnes braves 

And at length they made good their retreat, while we returned 
to the camp, leaving thirty-two troopers and our brave colonel dead 
upon the field in this disastrous affair. 

****** 

* * ♦ # m * 

The repulse we had met with, so contrary to all our hopes and ex- 
pectations, made that a most gloomy day to all of us. The brave 
fellows we had left behind us, the taunting cheers of the French 
infantry, the unbroken ranks against which we rode time after 


14 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


time in vain, never left our minds ; and a sense of shame of what 
might be thought of us at head quarters, rendered the reflection 
still more painful. 

Our bivouac, notwithstanding all our efforts, was a sad one ; and, 
when the moon rose, some drops of heavy rain falling at intervals, 
in the still, unruffled air, threatened a night of storm ; gradually 
the sky grew darker and darker, the clouds hung nearer to the 
earth, and a dense thick mass of dark mist shrouded every object ; 
the heavy cannonade of the siege was stilled, nothing betrayed that 
a vast army was encamped near us, their bivouac fires were even 
imperceptible, and the only sound we heard was the great bell of 
Ciudad Rodrigo as it struck the hour, and seemed in the mournful 
cadence of its chime like the knell of the doomed citadel. 

The patrol which I commanded had to visit on its rounds the 
most advanced post of our position. This was a small farm house 
which, standing upon a little rising ledge of ground, was separated 
from the French lines by a little stream tributary to the Aguda : a 
party of the fourteenth were picketed here, and beneath them, in 
the valley, scarce five hundred yards distant, was the detachment 
of cuirassiers which formed the French outpost. As we neared 
our picket, the deep voice of the sentry challenged us, and, while 
all else was silent as the grave, we could hear from the opposite 
side the merry chorus of the French chanson a boire, with its clat- 
tering accompaniment of glasses, as some gay companions were 
making merry together. 

Within the little hut which contained our fellows, the scene was 
a different one ; the three officers who commanded, sat moodily 
over a wretched fire of wet wood, a solitary candle dimly lighted 
the dismantled room, where a table but ill supplied with cheer 
stood unminded and uncared for. 

Well, O’Malley,’’ cried Baker, as I came in ; “ what is the 
night about, and what’s Crawford for next ?” 

We hear,” cried another, that he means to give battle to-mor- 
row, but surety Sir Arthur’s orders are positive enough. Gordon 
himself, told me that he was forbid to fight beyond the Coa, but to 
retreat at the first advance of the enemy.” 

“ I’m afraid,” replied I, “ that retreating is his last thought just 
now. Ammunition has just been served out, and I know the 
horse artillery have orders to be in readiness by daybreak.” 

‘‘ All right,” said Hampden, with a half bitter tone. ‘^Nothing 
like going through with it. If he is to be brought to court martial 
for disobedience, he’ll take good care we shan’t be there to see it.” 

Why, the French are fifty thousand strong,” said Baker. 

Look there ! what does that mean now ? — That’s a signal from 
the town.” As he spoke, a rocket of great brilliancy shot up into 
the sky, and, bursting, at length fell in millions of red lustrous 
sparks on every side, showing forth the tall fortress and the en- 
camped army around it, with all the clearness of noonday. It 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


15 


was a most splendid sight ; and, though the next moment all was 
dark as before, we gazed still fixedly into the gloomy distance ; 
straining our eyes to observe what was hid from our view forever. 

‘‘ That must be a signal,” repeated Baker. 

“Begad! if Crawford sees it, he’ll interpret it as a reason foi* 
fighting. I trust he’s asleep by this time,” said Hampden. “ By 
the bye, O’Malley, did you see the fellows at work in the trenches ? 
How beautifully clear it was towards the southward !” 

“Yes, I remarked that ! and what surprised me was the open- 
ness of their position in that direction. Towards the San Benito 
mole, I could not see a man.” 

“ Ah ! they’ll not attack on that side — ^but if we really are ” 

“ Stay, Hampden,” said I, interrupting ; “ a thought has just 
struck me. At sunset I saw through my telescope the French 
engineers marking with their white tape the line of a new intrench- 
ment in that quarter. Would it not be a glorious thing to move 
the tape, and bring the fellows under the fire of San Benito ?” 

“ By Jove, O’Malley, that is a thought worth a troop to you !” 

“ Far more likely to forward his promotion in the next world 
than in this,” said Baker, smiling. 

“ By no means,” added I ; “ I marked the ground this evening, 
and have it perfectly in my mind. If we were to follow the bend 
of the river. I’ll be bound to come right upon the spot : by nearing 
the fortress we’ll escape the sentries ; and all this portion is open 
to us.” 

The project thus loosely thrown out was now discussed in all 
its bearings. Whatever difficulties it presented were combated so 
much to our own satisfaction, that at last its very facility damped 
our ardour. Meanwhile the night wore on, and the storm of rain 
so long impending began to descend in very torrents : hissing along 
the parched ground, it rose in a mist, while over head the heavy 
thunder rolled in long unbroken peals, the crazy door threatened 
to give way at each moment, and the whole building trembled to 
its foundation. 

“ Pass the brandy down here, Hampden, and thank your stars 
you’re where you are. Eh, O’Malley ? You’ll defer your trip to 
San Benito for finer weather.” 

“ Why, in good earnest,” said Hampden, “ I’d rather begin my 
engineering at a more favourable season ; but if O’Malley’s for 
it-^ — ” 

“ And O’Malley is for it,” said I, suddenly. 

“ Then faith I’m not the man to balk his fancy ; and as Craw- 
ford is so bent jipon fighting to-morrow, it don’t make much differ- 
ence. Is it a bargain ?” 

“ It is ; here’s my hand on it.” 

“ Come, come, boys ; I’ll have none of this : we’ve been prettily 
cut up this morning already. You shall not go upon this foolish 
excursion.” 


16 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


Confound it, old fellow ; it^s all very well for you to talk, with 
the majority before you, next step ; but here we are, if peace 
come to-morrow, scarcely better than we left England. No, no, 
if O’Malley’s ready, — and I see he is so before me, — what have 
you got there?” 

‘‘ Oh ! I see ; that’s our tape line ; capital fun, by George ; the 
worst of it is, they’ll make us colonels of engineers.” 

“ Now then, what’s your plan— on foot or mounted ?” 

Mounted, and for this reason : the country is all open ; if we 
are to have a run for it, our thoroughbreds ought to distance them ; 
and, as we must expect to pass some of their sentrie.s, our only 
chance is on horseback.” 

My mind is relieved of a great load,” said Hampden ; I was 
trembling in my skin, lest you should make it a walking party. I’ll 
do any thing you like in the saddle, from robbing the mail to cut- 
ting out a frigate ; but I never was much of a footpad.” 

‘‘Well, Mike,” said T, as I returned to the room with my trusty 
follower, “ are the cattle to be depended on ?” 

“ If we had a snaffle in Malachi Daly’s mouth,” (my brown 
horse,) “ I’d be afeared of nothing, sir ; but, if it comes to fencing, 
with that cruel bit, — but sure, you’ve a light hand, and let him 
have his head, if it’s wall.’^ 

“ By Jove, he thinks it a fox-chase !” said Hampden. 

“Isn’t it the same, sir?” said Mike, with a seriousness that 
made the whole party smile. 

“ Well, I hope we shall not be earthed any way,” said I. “ Now 
the next thing is, who has a lantern?- — ah! the very thing; nothing 
better. Look to your pistols, Hampden ; and, Mike, here’s a glass 
of grog for you; we’ll want you. And now, one bumper for 
good luck. Eh, Baker, won’t you pledge us ?” 

“And spare a little for me,” said Hampden. “How it does 
rain. If one didn’t expect to be waterproofed before morning, 
they really wouldn’t go out in such weather.” 

While I busied myself in arranging my few preparations, 
Hampden proceeded gravely to inform Mike that we were going 
to the assistance of the besieged fortress, which could not possibly 
go on without us. 

“ Tare and ages,” said Mike, “ that’s mighty quare ; and the 
blue rocket was a letter of invitation, I suppose.” 

“ Exactly,” said Hampden ; “ and you see there’s no ceremony 
between us. We’ll just drop in, in the evening, in a friendly 
way.” 

“Well, then, upon my conscience, I’d wait, if I was you, till the 
family wasn’t in confusion. They have enough on their hands 
just now.” 

“ So you’ll not be persuaded,” said Baker. “Well, I frankly 
tell you, that come what will of it, as your senior officer. I’ll report 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


17 


you to-morrow. I’ll not rislj myself for any such hair-brained 
expeditions.” 

A mighty pleasant look-out for me,” said Mike ; if Pm not 
shot to-night, still I may be flogged iu the morning.” 

This speech once more threw us into a hearty fit of laughter, 
amid which we took leave of our friends, and set forth upon our 
way. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE LINES or CIUDAD RODRIGO. 

The small twinkling lights which shone from the ramparts of ' 
Ciudad Rodrigo were our only guide, as we issued forth upon our 
perilous expedition. The storm raged, if possible, even more 
violently than before ; and gusts of wind swept along the ground 
with the force of a hurricane ; so that, at first, our horses could 
scarcely face the tempest. Our path lay along the little stream for 
a considerable way : after which, fording the rivulet, we entered 
upon the open plain ; taking care to avoid the French outpost in 
the extreme left, which was marked by a bivouac fire, burning 
under the heavy down-pour of rain, and looking larger through 
the dim atmosphere around it. 

I rode foremost, followed closely by Hampden and Mike : not a 
word was spoken after we crossed the stream. Our plan was, if 
challenged by a patrol, to reply in French and press on : so small 
a party could never suggest the idea of attack; and we hoped in 
this manner to escape. 

The violence of the storm was such, that many of our precau- 
tions as to silence were quite unnecessary ; and we had advanced 
to a considerable extent into the plain before any appearance of 
the encampment struck us. At length, on mounting a little rising 
ground, we perceived several fires stretching far away to the north- 
ward ; while, still to our left, there blazed one larger and brighter 
than the others. We now found that we had not outflanked their 
position as we intended, and learning from the situation of the 
fires, that we were still only at the outposts, we pressed sharply 
forward, directing our course by the twin stars that shone from the 
fortress. 

“ How heavy the ground is here !” whispered Hampden, as our 
horses sunk above the fetlocks ; “ we had better stretch away to 
the right, the rise of the hill will favour us.” 

Hark!” said I: “did you not hear something? pull up; silence 
now ; yes, there they come. It’s a patrol, I hear their tramp.” 

VoL. II. — 3 B 2 


18 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


As I spoke, the measured tread of infantry was heard above the 
storm, and soon after a lantern was seen coming along the cause- 
way near us. The column passed within a few yards of where 
we stood. I could eyen recognise the black covering of the skakos 
as the light fell on them. ‘‘ Let us follow them,” whispered I ; 
and the next moment we fell in upon their track, holding our 
cattle well in hand and ready to start at a moment. 

Qui est la a sentry demanded. 

La deuxieme division’’ cried a hoarse voice. 

“ Halte Id, ! le consigne ?” 

Wagra7n !” repeated the same voice as before, while his 
party resumed their march , and the next moment the patrol was 
again upon his post, silent and motionless as before. 

En avant, Messieurs !” said I aloud, as soon as the infantry 
had proceeded some distance; “en avant I” — “ (^ui est Id?” de- 
manded the sentry, as we came along at a sharp trot. 

L’etat-maj or Wagram,” responded I, pressing on without 
drawing rein ; and in a moment we had regained our former posi- 
tion behind the infantry. We had scarcely time to congratulate 
ourselves upon the success of our scheme, when a tremendous 
clattering noise in front, mingled with the galloping of horses and 
the cracking of whips, announced the approach of the artillery 
as they came along by a narrow road which bisected our path : 
and, as they passed between us and the column, we could hear the 
muttered sentences of the drivers, cursing the unseasonable time 
for an attack, and swearing at their cattle in no measured tones. 

“ Did you hear that ?” whispered Hampden ; “ the battery is 
about to be directed against the San Benito, which must be far 
away to the left. I heard one of the troop saying that they were 
to open their fire at daybreak.” 

“ All right, now,” said I : “ look there.” 

From the hill we now stood upon, a range of lanterns was dis- 
tinctly visible, stretching away for nearly half a mile. 

“ There are the trenches : they must be at work, too ; see 
how the lights are moving from place to place ! Straight now : 
forward !” 

So saying, I pressed my horse boldly on. 

We had not proceeded many minutes, when the sounds of gal- 
loping were heard coming along behind us. 

“ To the right, in the hollow,” cried I : “be still.” 

Scarcely had we moved off when several horsemen galloped up, 
and, drawing their reins to breathe their horses up the hill, we 
could hear their voices as they conversed together. 

In the few broken words we could catch, we guessed that 
the attack upon San Benito was only a feint to induce Crawford 
to hold his position, while the French, marching upon his flank 
and front, were to attack him with overwhelming masses and 
crush him. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


19 


“You hear what’s in store for us, O’Malley,” whispered 
Hampden. “ I think we could not possibly do better than hasten 
back with the intelligence.” 

“We must not forget what we came for, first,” said I ; and the 
next moment we were following the horsemen, who, from their 
helmets, seemed horse artillery officers. 

The pace our guides rode at showed us that they knew their 
ground. We passed several sentries, muttering something at 
each time, and seeming as if only anxious to keep up with our 
party. 

“ They’ve halted,” said I. “ Now to the left there : gently 
here, for we must be in the midst of their lines. Ha ! I knew we 
were right : see there !” 

Before us, now, at a few hundred yards, we could perceive a 
number of men engaged upon the field. Lights were moving 
from place to place rapidly, while immediately in front, a strong 
picket of cavalry were halted. 

“ By Jove, there’s sharp work of it to-night,” whispered Hamp- 
den ; “ they do intend to surprise us, to-morrow.” 

“ Gently now, to the left,” said I ; as cautiously skirting the 
little hill, I kept my eye firmly fixed upon the watch-fire. 

The storm, which for some time had abated considerably, was 
now nearly quelled, and the moon again peeped forth amid masses 
of black and watery clouds. 

“ What good fortune for us !” thought I, at this moment, as I 
surveyed the plain before me. 

“ I say, O’Malley, what are those fellows at, yonder, where the 
blue light is burning ?” 

“ Ah ! the very people we want ; these are the sappers. Now 
for it ! that’s our ground : we’ll soon come upon their track, 
now.” 

We pressed rapidly forward, passing an infantry party, as we 
went. The blue light was scarcely a hundred yards off: we could 
even hear the shouting of the officers to their men in the trenches, 
when suddenly my horse came down upon his head, and rolling 
over, crushed me to the earth. 

“ Not hurt, my boy,” cried I, in a subdued tone, as Hampden 
jumped down beside me. 

It was the angle of a trench I had fallen into ; and though both 
my horse and myself felt stunned for the moment, we rallied the 
next minute. 

“ Here is the very spot,” said I : “now, Mike, catch the bridles 
and follow us^closely.” 

Guiding ourselves along the edge of the trench, we crept 
stealthily forward : the only watch-fire near was where the en- 
gineer party was halted, and our object was to get outside of this. 

“My turn this time,” said Hampden, as he tripped suddenly, 
and fell head foremost upon the grass. 


20 


CHARLES O’MALLEY. 


As I assisted him to rise, something caught my ankle, and, on 
stooping, I found it was a cord pegged fast into the ground and 
lying only a few inches above it. 

‘‘Now, steady ! see here; this is their working line; pass your 
hand along it there, and let us follow it out.” 

While Hampden accordingly crept along on one side, I tracked 
the cord upon the other ; here I found it terminating upon a small 
mound, where probably some battery was to be erected. I ac- 
cordingly gathered it carefully up, and was returning towards my 
friend, when what was my horror to hear Mike’s voice, convers- 
ing, as it seemed to me, with some one in French. 

I stood fixed to the spot, my very heart beating almost in my 
mouth as I listened. 

“ Qui etes vous, done, mon ami inquired a hoarse deep 
voice, a few yards off. 

“ Bon cheval, bon beast, sacre nom de Dieu A hearty burst 
of laughter prevented my healing the conclusion of Mike’s 
French. 

I now crept forwards upon my hands and knees, till I could 
catch the dark outline of the horses, one hand fixed upon my 
pistol trigger, and my sword drawn in the other. Meanwhile the 
dialogue continued. 

“ Vous Ues d’Jilsace; n^est ce pas?’’ asked the Frenchman, 
kindly, supposing that Mike’s French savoured of Strasburg. 

“Oh, blessed Virgin! av’ I might shoot him,” was the muttered 
reply. 

Before 1 had time to see the eftect of the last speech, I pre^ssed 
forward with a bold spring, and felled the Frenchman to the earth; 
my hand had scarcely pressed upon his mouth, when Hampden 
was beside me. Snatching up the pistol I let fall, he held it to 
the man’s chest, and commanded him to be silent. To unfasten 
his girdle, and bind the Frenchman’s hands behind him was the 
work of a moment; and, as the sharp click of the pistol-cock 
seemed to calm his efforts to escape, we soon succeeded in fasten- 
ing a handkerchief tight across his mouth, and, the next minute, 
he was placed behind Mike’s saddle, firmly attached to this worthy 
individual by his sword belt. 

“ Now, a clear run home for it, and a fair start,” said Hampden, 
as he sprung into the saddle. 

“ Now, then, for it,” I replied ; as, turning my horse’s head to- 
wards our lines, I dashed madly forward. 

The moon was again obscured, but still the dark outline of the 
hill which formed our encampment was discernible on the horizon. 
Riding side by side on we hurried; now splashing through the 
deep and wet marshes, now plunging through small streams. Our 
horses were high in mettle, and we spared them not ; by taking a 
wide detour we had outflanked the French pickets, and were 
almost out of all risk, when suddenly, on coming to the ver«^ 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


21 


a rather steep hill, we perceived beneath us a strong cavalry picket 
standing around a watch-fire : their horses were ready saddled, the 
men accoutred, and quite prepared for the field. While we conversed 
together in whispers as to the course to follow, our deliberations 
were very rapidly cut short. The French prisoner, who hitherto 
had given neither trouble nor resistance, had managed to free his 
mouth from the encumbrance of the handkerchief; and, as we 
stood quietly discussing our plans, with one tremendous effort he 
endeavoured to hurl himself and Mike from the saddle, shouting 
out as he did so, — 

moi, camarades : sauvez moi 

Hampden’s pistol leaped from the holster as he spoke, and, level- 
ling it with a deadly aim, he pulled the trigger; but I threw up his 
arm, and the ball passed high above his head. To have killed the 
Frenchman would have been to lose my faithful follower, who 
struggled manfully with his adversary, and, at length, by throwing 
himself flatly forward upon the mane of his horse, completely dis- 
abled him. Meanwhile, the picket had sprung to their saddles, 
and looked wildly about on every side. 

Not a moment was to be lost; so, turning our horses’ heads 
towards the plain, away we went. One loud cheer announced to 
us that we had been seen, and the next instant the clash of the 
pursuing cavalry was heard behind us. It was now entirely a 
question of speed, and little need we have feared, had Mike’s 
horse not been doubly weighted. However, as we still had con- 
siderably the start, and the gray dawn of day enabled us to see the 
ground, the odds were in our favour. Never let your horse’s 
head go,” was my often repeated direction to Mike, as he spurred 
with all the desperation of madness. Already the low meadow 
land was in sight which flanked the stream we had crossed in the 
morning ; but, unfortunately, the heavy rains had swollen it now 
to a considerable depth, and the muddy current, choked with 
branches of trees and great stones, was hurrying down like a tor- 
rent. Take the river : never flinch it,” was my cry to my com- 
panions, as I turned my head and saw a French dragoon, followed 
by two others, gaining rapidly upon us. As I spoke, Mike dashed 
in, followed by Hampden, and the same moment the sharp ring 
of a carbine Avhizzed past me. To take off the pursuit from the 
others, I now wheeled my horse suddenly round, as if I feared to 
take the stream, and dashed along by the river’s bank. 

Beneath me, in the foaming current, the two horsemen laboured; 
now stemming the rush of water, now reeling almost beneath. A 
sharp cry burst from Mike as I looked ; and I saw the poor fellow 
bend nearly to his saddle. I could see no more, for the chase was 
now hot upon myself; behind me rode a. French dragoon, his car- 
bine pressed tightly to his side, ready to fire as he pressed on in 
pursuit. I had but one chance ; so, drawing my. pistol, I wheeled 
suddenly in my saddle, and fired straight at him. The Frenchman 


22 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


fell while a regular volley from his party rung around me ; one 
ball, striking my horsej and another lodging in the pannel of my 
saddle. The noble animal reeled nearly to the earth, but, as if 
rallying for a last effort, sprung forward with renewed energy, and 
plunged boldly into the river. 

For a moment, so sudden was my leap, my pursuers lost sight 
of me; but the bank being somewhat steep, the efforts of my horse 
to climb, again discovered me, and, before I reached the field, two 
pistol balls took effect upon me ; one slightly grazed my side, but 
my bridle arm was broken by the other, and my hand fell motion- 
less to my side. A cheer of defiance was, however, my reply, as I 
turned round in my saddle, and the next moment I was far be- 
yond the range of their fire. 

Not a man durst follow; and the last sight I had of them was 
the dismounted group who stood around their dead comrade ; be- 
fore me rode Hampden and Mike, still at top speed, and never 
turning their heads backward. 1 hastened after them; but my 
poor wounded horse, nearly hamstrung by the shot, became dead 
lame ; and it was past daybreak ere I reached the first outposts 
of our lines. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


23 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE DOCTOR. 

And his wound ? Is it a serious one ?” said a round, full voice, 
as the doctor left my room, at the conclusion of his visit. 

“ No, sir ; a fractured bone is the worst of it ; the bullet grazed, 
but did not cut the artery ; and as ” 

‘‘ Well, how soon will he be about again ?” 

‘‘ In a few weeks, if no fever sets in.” 

‘‘ There is no objection to my seeing him? — a few minutes only — 
I shall be cautious.” So saying, and, as it seemed to me, without 
waiting for a reply, the door was opened by an aid-de-camp, who, 
announcing General Crawford, closed it again and withdrew. 

The first glance I threw upon the general, enabled me to recog- 
nise the officer who on the previous morning had rode up to the 
picket and given us the orders to charge. I essayed to rise a little 
as he came forward, but he motioned me with his hand to lie still, 
while, placing a chair close beside my bed, he sat down. 

‘‘ Very sorry for your mishap, sir; but glad it is no worse. More- 
ton says that nothing of consequence is injured: there, you mustn’t 
speak, except I ask you. Hampden has told me every thing neces- 
sary ; at least, as far as he knew. Is it your opinion, also, that any 
movement is in contemplation ? and from what circumstance ?” 

I immediately explained, and, as briefly as I was able, the rea- 
sons for suspecting such, with which he seemed quite/satisfied. I 
detailed the various changes in the positions of the troops that were 
taking place during the night, the march of the artillery, and the 
strong bodies of cavalry that were posted in reserve along the 
river. 

Very well, sir ; they’ll not move ; your prisoner, sir, quarter- 
master of an infantry battalion, says not, also. Yours was a bold 
stroke, but could not possibly have been of service, and the best 
thing I can do for you is not to mention it ; a court-martial is but 
a poor recompense for a gun-shot wound. Meanwhile, when this 
blows over. I’ll appoint you on my personal staff. There, not a 
word, I beg; and now good-bye.” 

So saying, and waving me an adieu, with his hand, the gallant 
veteran withdrew before I could express my gratitude for his kind- 
ness. 

I had little time for reflecting over my past adventure, such 
numbers of my brother officers poured in upon me. All the doc- 
tor’s cautions respecting quietness and rest were disregarded, and 
a perfect levee sat the entire morning in my bed-room. I was de- 


24 


CHARLES o’mALLET, 


lighted to learn that Mike’s wound, though painful at the moment, 
was of no consequence, and indeed, Hampden, who escaped both 
steel and shot, was the worst otf amongst us ; his plunge in the 
river having brought on an ague he had laboured under years 
before. 

‘‘The illustrious Maurice has been twice here this morning, but 
they wouldn’t admit him. Your Scotch physician is afraid of his 
Irish confrere, and they had a rare set-to, about Galen and Hippo- 
crates, outside,” said Baker. 

“ By-the-bye,” said another, “did you see how Sparks looked 
when Quill joined us? Egad, I never saw a fellow in such a 
fright ; he reddened up, then grew pale, turned his back, and slunk 
away at the very first moment.” 

“Yes, I remember it. We must find out the reason ; for Mau- 
rice, depend upon it, has been hoaxing the poor fellow.” 

“ Well, O’Malley,” growled out the senior major, “ you cer- 
tainly did give Hampden a benefit. He’d not trust himself in such 
company again, and, begad, he says, the man is as bad as the mas- 
ter. That fellow of yours never let go his prisoner till he reached 
the Quarter General, and they were both bathed in blood by that 
time.” 

“ Poor Mike, we must do something for him.” 

“ Oh ! he’s as happy as a king. Maurice has been in to see him, 
and they’ve had a long chat about Ireland, and all the national 
pastimes of whisky drinking and smashing skulls : my very tem- 
ples ache at the recollection.” 

“Is Mister O’Mealey at home?” said a very rich Cork accent, 
as the well-known and most droll features of Dr. Maurice Quill 
appeared at the door. 

Come in, Maurice,” said the major ; “and for Heaven’s sake 
behave properly. The poor fellow must not have a row about his 
bedside.” 

“ A row, a row ! Upon my conscience, it is little you know 
about a row, and there’s worse things going than a row.” 

“ Which leg is it ?” 

“ It’s an arm. Doctor, I’m happy to say.” 

“ Not your punch hand, I hope. No ; all’s right. A neat fel- 
low you have for a servant, that Mickey Free. I was asking him 
about a townsman of his oWn — one Tim Delany — the very cut of 
himself; the best servant I ever had. I never could make out 
what became of him. Old Hobson of the ninety-fifth gave him to 
me, saying, ‘ There, he’s for you, Maurice, and a bigger thief and 
greater blackguard there’s not in the sixtieth.’ 

“ ‘ Strong word,’ said I. 

“ ‘ And true,’ said he, ‘he’d steal your molar tooth while you 
were laughing at him.’ 

“ ‘ Let me have him, and try my hand on him, any way. I’ve 
got no one just now. Any thing is better than nothing.’ 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


25 


Well, I took Tim, and sending for him to my room, I locked 
the door, and, sitting down gravely before him, explained, in a 
few words, that I was quite aware of his little propensities. 

^ Now,’ said I, ‘ if you like to behave well, Pll think you as 
honest as the chief justice ; but, if I catch you stealing, if it be 
only the value of a brass snuff-box. I’ll have you flogged before 
the regiment, as sure as my name’s Maurice.’ 

“ 0 ! I wish you had heard the volley of protestations that fell 
from him, fast as hail. He was a calumniated man ; the world 
conspired to wrong him ; he was never a thief nor a rogue in his 
life : he had a weakness, he confessed, for the ladies, but, except 
that, he hoped he might die so thin, that he could shave himself 
with his shin bone, if he ever so much as took a pinch of salt that 
wasn’t his own. 

“ However this might be, nothing could be better than the way 
Tim and I got on together. Every thing was in its place — nothing 
missing — and, in fact, for upwards of a year, I went on wondering 
when he was to show out in his true colours ; for hitherto he had 
been a phoenix. 

“ At last, — we were quartered in Limerick at the time, — every 
morning used to bring accounts of all manner of petty thefts in the 
barrack ; one fellow had lost his belt, another his shoes, a third had 
three-and-sixpence in his pocket when he went to bed, and woke 
without a farthing, and so on : everybody, save myself, was mulct 
of something. At length some rumours of Tim’s former propen- 
sities got abroad; suspicion was excited. My friend Delany was 
rigidly watched, and some very dubious circumstances attached to 
the way he spent his evenings. 

“ My brother officers called upon me about the matter, and, 
although nothing had transpired like proof, I sent for Tim, and 
opened my mind on the subject. 

You may talk of the look of conscious innocence, but I defy 
you to conceive any thing finer than the stare of offended honour 
Tim gave me as I begun. 

^They say it’s me, doctor,’ said he, ^ do they? And you — you 
believe them. You allow them to revile me that way? Well, 
well, the world is come to a pretty pass, anyhow. Now, let me 
ask your honour a few questions ? 

^ How many shirts had yourself when I entered your service? 
two, and one was more like a fishing-net ! And how many have 
ye now ? eighteen ; ay, eighteen bran new cambric ones ; devil a 
hole in one of theinJ How many pair of stockings had you ?• three 
and an odd one : you have two dozen this minute. How many 
pocket-handkerchiefs ? one — devil a more ! You could only blow 
your nose two days in the week, and now you may every hour 
of the twenty "four ! — and, as to the trifling articles of small value, 
snuff-boxes, gloves, boot-jacks, night-caps, and ’ 

‘ Stop, Tim, that’s enough ’ 

VOL. II.— 4 c 


26 


CHARLES O^MALLET. 


‘ No, sir, it is not,’ said Tim, drawing himself up to his full 
height; ‘you have wounded my feelings in a way I can’t forget: 
it is impossible we can have that mutual respect our position 
demands : farewell, farewell, doctor, and forever !’ 

“Before I could say another word, the fellow had left the room, 
and closed the door after him ; and, from that hour to this, I never 
set eyes on him.” 

In this vein did the worthy doctor run on, till some more discreet 
friend suggested that, however well intentioned the visit, I did not 
seem to be fully equal to it ; my flushed cheek and anxious eye 
betraying that the fever of my wound had commenced ; they left 
me, therefore, once more alone, and to my solitary musings over 
the vicissitudes of my fortune. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE COA. 

Within a week from the occurrence of the events just men- 
tioned, Ciudad Rodrigo surrendered, and Crawford assumed another 
position beneath the walls of Almeida; the Spanish contingent 
having left us, we were reinforced by the arrival of two battalions, 
renewed orders being sent not to risk a battle ; but, if the French 
should advance, to retire beyond the Coa. 

On the evening of the 21st July, a strong body of French cavalry 
advanced into the plain, supported by some heavy guns ; upon 
which Crawford retired upon the Coa, intending, as we supposed, 
to place that river between himself and the enemy. Three days, 
however, passed over without any movement upon either side, and 
we still continued, with a force of scarcely four thousand infantry 
and a thousand dragoons, to stand opposite to an army of nearly 
fifty thousand men : such was our position as the night of the 24th 
set in. I was. sitting alone in my quarters; Mike, whose wound 
had been severer than at first was supposed, had been sent to 
Almeida, and I was musing in solitude upon the events of the 
campaign, when the noise and bustle without excited my attention; 
the roll of artillery wagons, the clash of musketry, and the distant 
sounds of marching, all proved that the troops were effecting some 
new movement, and I burned with anxiety to learn what it was. 
My brother officers, however, came not as usual to my quarters ; 
and, although I waited with impatience while the hours rolled by, 
no one appeared. 

Long, low, moaning gusts of wind swept along the earth, carry- 
ing the leaves as they tore them from the trees, and mingling their 


THE IKISH DRAGOON. 


27 


sad sounds with the noises of the retiring troops ; for I could per- 
ceive that gradually the sounds grew more and more remote, and 
only now and then could I trace their position, as the roll of a dis- 
tant drum swelled upon the breeze, or the more shrill cry of a 
pibroch broke upon my ear: a heavy downpour of rain followed 
soon after, and in its unceasing plash drowned all other sounds. 

As the little building shook beneath the peals of loud thunder, 
the lightning flashed in broad sheets upon the rapid river, which, 
swollen and foaming, dashed impetuously beside my window. By 
the uncertain but vivid glare of the flashes I endeavoured to ascer- 
tain where our force was posted ; but in vain. Never did I wit- 
ness such a night of storm: the deep booming of the thunder 
seeming never for a moment to cease, while the rush of the torrent 
grew gradually louder, till at length it swelled into one deep and 
sullen roar, like that of distant artillery. 

Weak and nervous as I felt from the effects of my wound, 
feverish and exhausted by days of suffering and sleepless nights, I 
paced my little room with tottering but impatient steps. The 
sense of my sad and imprisoned state impressed me deeply ; and 
while, from time to time, I replenished my fire, and hoped to hear 
some friendly step upon the stair, my heart grew gradually heavier, 
and every gloomy and depressing thought suggested itself to my 
imagination. My most constant impression was, that the troops 
were retiring beyond the Coa, and that, forgotten in the haste and 
confusion of a night march, I had been left behind to fall a prisoner 
to the enemy. 

The sounds of the troops retiring gradually farther and farther 
favoured the idea, in which I was still more strengthened on find- 
ing that the peasants who inhabited the little hut had departed, 
leaving me utterly alone. From the moment I ascertained- this 
fact, my impatience knew no bounds, and, in proportion as I began 
to feel some exertion necessary on my part, so much more did my 
nervousness increase, my debility, that at last I sank exhausted 
upon my bed, while a cold perspiration broke out upon my tem- 
ples. 

I have mentioned that the Coa was immediately beneath the 
house ; I must also add, that the little building occupied th6 angle 
of a steep but narrow gorge, which descended from the plain to the 
bridge across the stream. This, as far as I knew, was the only 
means we possessed of passing the river ; so that, when the last 
retiring sounds of the troops were heard by me, I began to suspect 
that Crawford, in compliance with his orders, was making a back- 
ward movement, feaving the bridge open to the French, to, draw 
them oh to his line of march, while he should cross over at some 
more distant point. 

As the night grew later, the storm seemed to increase; the 
waves of the foaming river dashed against the frail walls of the 


28 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


hut, while its roof, rent by the blast, fell in fragments upon the 
stream, and all threatened a speedy and perfect ruin. 

How I longed for morning ! The doubt and uncertainty I suf- 
fered nearly drove me distracted. Of all the casualties my career 
as a soldier opened, none had such terrors for me as imprisonment: 
the very thought of the long years of inaction and inglorious idle- 
ness, was worse than any death. My wounds and the state of 
fever I was in, increased the morbid dread upon me, and, had the 
French captured me at the time, I know not that madness of 
which I was not capable. Day broke at last, but slowly and sullenly ; 
the gray clouds hurried past upon the storm, pouring down the 
rain in torrents as they went, and the desolation and dreariness on 
all sides was scarcely preferable to the darkness and gloom of night. 
My eyes were turned ever towards the plain, across which the 
winter wind bore the plashing rain in vast sheets of water : the 
thunder crashed louder and louder ; but except the sounds of the 
storm, none others met my ear. Not a man, not a human figure 
could I see, as I strained my- sight towards the distant horizon. 

The morning crept over, but the storm abated not, and the same 
unchanged aspect of dreary desolation prevailed without. At 
times I thought I could hear amidst the noises of the tempest some- 
thing like the roll of distant artillery ; but the thunder swelled in 
sullen roar above all, and left me uncertain as before. 

At last, in a momentary pause of the storm, a tremendous peal 
of heavy guns caught my ear, followed by the long rattling of 
small arms. My heart bounded with ecstasy. The thought of 
the battle-field, with all its changing fortunes, was better, a thou- 
sand times better, than the despairing sense of desertion I laboured 
under. I listened now with eagerness, but the rain bore down 
again in torrents, and the crumbling walls and falling timbers left 
no other sounds to be heard. Far as my eye could reach, nothing 
could still be seen, save the dreary monotony of the vast plain, 
undulating slightly here and there, but unmarked by a sign of 
man. 

Far away towards the horizon, I had remarked for some time 
past that the clouds resting upon the earth grew blacker and 
blacker, spreading out to either side in vast masses, and not broken 
or wafted along like the rest. As I watched the phenomenon 
with an anxious eye, I perceived the dense mass suddenly appear, 
as it were, rent asunder, while a volume of liquid flame rushed 
wildly out, throwing a lurid glare on every side. One terrific 
clap, louder than any thunder, shook the air at this moment, while 
the very earth trembled beneath the shock. 

As I hesitated what it might be, the heavy din of great guns 
again was heard, and from the midst of the black smoke rode forth 
a dark mass, which I soon recognised as the horse artillery at full 
gallop. They were directing their course towards the bridge. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


29 


As they mounted the little rising ground, they wheeled and un- 
limbered with the speed of lightning, just as a strong column of 
cavalry showed above the ridge. One tremendous discharge again 
shook the field, and, ere the smoke cleared away, they were again 
far in retreat. 

So much was my attention occupied with this movement, that I 
had not perceived the long line of infantry that came from the ex- 
treme left, and were now advancing also towards the bridge at a 
brisk quick step ; scattered bodies of cavalry came up from dif- 
ferent parts, while from the little valley every now and then a 
rifleman would mount the rising ground, turning to fire as he 
retreated. All this boded a rapid and disorderly retreat, and, 
although as yet I could, see nothing of the pursuing enemy, I knew 
too well the relative forces of each to have a doubt for the result. 

At last, the head of a French column appeared above the mist, 
and I could plainly distinguish the gestures of the officers as they 
hurried their men onwards. Meanwhile a loud hurra attracted 
my attention, and I turned my eyes towards the road which led to 
the river. Here a small body of the 95th had hurriedly assembled; 
and, formed again, were standing to cover the retreat of the broken 
infantry as they passed on eagerly to the bridge : in a second after 
the French cuirassiers appeared. Little anticipating resistance 
from a flying and disordered mass, they rode headlong forward, 
and although the firm attitude and steady bearing of the High- 
landers might have appalled them, they rode heedlessly down 
upon the square, sabring the very men in the front rank. Till 
now not a trigger had been pulled, when suddenly the word ‘‘fire 
was given, and a withering volley of balls sent the cavalry column 
in shivers. One hearty cheer broke from the infantry in the rear, 
and I could hear “gallant ninety-fifth’’ shouted on every side 
along the plain. 

The whole vast space before me was now one animated battle 
ground. Our own troops retiring in haste before the overwhelm- 
ing forces of the French, occupied every littte vantage ground 
with their guns and light infantry ; charges of cavalry coursing 
hither and thither, while, as the French pressed forward, the re- 
treating columns again formed into squares to permit stragglers to 
come up. The rattle of small arms, the heavy peal of artillery, 
the earthquake crash of cavalry, rose on every side, while the 
cheers which alternately told of the vacillating fortune of the fight, 
rose amidst the wild pibroch of the Highlanders. 

A tremendous noise now took place on the floor beneath me ; 
and looking down, I perceived that a sergeant and party of the sap- 
pers had taken possession of the little hut, and were busily en- 
gaged piercing the walls for musketry ; and before many minutes 
had elapsed, a company of the rifles were thrown into the building, 
which, from its commanding position above the road, enfiladed the 
vhole line of march. The oflicer in command briefly informed 

c 2 


30 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


me that we had been attacked that morning by the French in force, 
and “ devilishly well thrashed that we were now in retreat be- 
yond the Coa, where we ought to have been three days previously, 
and desired me to cross the bridge and get myself out of the way 
as soon as I possibly could. 

A twenty-four pounder from the French lines struck the angle 
of the house as he spoke, scattering the mortar and broken bricks 
about us on all sides. This was warning sufficient for me, wound- 
ed and disabled as I was ; so, taking the few things I could save 
in my haste, I hurried from the hut, and, descending the path, now 
slippery by the heavy rain, I took my way across the bridge and 
established myself on a little rising knoll of ground beyond, from 
which a clear view could be obtained of the whole field. 

I had not been many minutes in my present position ere the 
pass which led down to the bridge became thronged with troops, 
wagons, ammunition carts, and hospital stores, pressing thickly 
forward amid shouting and uproar: the hills on either side of the 
way were crowded with troops, who formed as they came up, the 
artillery taking up their position on every rising ground. The 
firing had already begun, and the heavy booming of the large guns 
was heard at intervals amid the rattling crash of musketry : except 
the narrow road before me, and the high bank of the stream, I 
could see nothing ; but the tumult and din, which grew momenta- 
rily louder, told that the tide of battle waged nearer and nearer. 
Still the retreat continued ; and at length the heavy artillery canie 
thundering across the narrow bridge, followed by stragglers of all 
arms, and wounded, hurrying to the rear: the sharpshooters and 
Highlanders held the heights above the stream, thus covering the 
retiring columns ; but I could plainly perceive that their fire was 
gradually slackening, and that the guns which flanked their posi- 
tion were withdrawn, and every thing bespoke a speedy retreat. 
A tremendous discharge of musketry at this moment, accompanied 
by a deafening cheer, announced the advance of the French, and 
soon the head of the Highland brigade was seen descending to- 
wards the bridge, followed by the rifles, and the 95th ; the cavalry, 
consisting of the 11th and 14th Light Dragoons, were now formed 
ill column of attack, and the infantry deployed into line ; and, in 
an instant after, high above the din and crash of battle, I heard the 
word charge The rising crest of the hill hid them from my 
sight, but my heart bounded with ecstasy as I listened to the 
clanging sound of the cavalry advance. Meanwhile, the infantry 
pressed on, and, forming upon the bank, took up a strong position 
in front of the bridge: the heavy guns were also unlimbered: 
riflemen scattered through the low copse wood, and every precau- 
tion taken to defend the pass to the last : for a moment all my 
attention was riveted to the movements upon our own side of the 
stream, when suddenly the cavalry bugle sounded the recall, and 
the same moment the staff came galloping across the bridge. One 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


31 


officer I could perceive, covered with orders and trappings: his 
head was bare, and his horse, splashed with blood and foam, 
moved lamely and with difficulty ; he turned in the middle of the 
bridge, as if irresolute whether to retreat farther : one glance at him 
showed me the bronzed, manly features of our leader. Whatever 
his resolve, the matter was soon decided for him ; for the cavalry 
came galloping swiftly down the slope, and in an instant the bridge 
was blocked up by the retreating forces; while the French as 
suddenly appearing above the height, opened a plunging fire upon 
their defenceless enemies : their cheer of triumph was answered 
by our fellows from the opposite bank, and a heavy cannonade 
thundered along the rocky valley, sending up a hundred echoes as 
it went. 

The scene now became one of overwhelming interest ; the 
French, posting their guns upon the height, replied to our fire, 
while their column, breaking into skirmishers, descended the banks 
to the river edge, and poured in one . sheet of galling musketry. 
The road to the bridge, swept by our artillery, presented not a 
single file, and, although a movement among the French announoed 
the threat of an attack, the deadly service of the artillery seemed 
to pronounce it hopeless. 

A strong cavalry force stood inactively spectators of the combat 
on the French side, among whom I now remarked some bustle 
and preparation, and, as I looked, an officer rode boldly to the 
river edge, and, spurring his horse forward, plunged into the 
stream. The swollen and angry torrent, increased by the late 
rains, boiled like barm, and foamed around him as he advanced, 
when suddenly his horse appeared to have lost its footing, and the 
rapid current, circling around him, bore him along with it. He 
laboured madly, but in vain, to retrace his steps; the rolling torrent 
rose above his saddle, and all that his gallant steed could do was 
barely sufficient to keep afloat : both man and horse were carried 
down between the contending armies. I could see him wave his 
hand to his comrades as if in adieu : one deafening cheer of admi- 
ration rose from the French lines, and the next moment he was 
seen to fall from his seat, and his body, shattered with balls, floated 
mournfully upon the stream. 

This little incident, to which both armies were witnesses, seemed 
to have called forth all the fiercer passions of the contending forces; 
a loud yell of taunting triumph rose from the Highlanders, responded 
to by a cry of vengeance from the French, and the same moment 
the head of a column was seen descending the narrow causeway 
to the bridge ; while an officer, with a whole blaze of decorations 
and crosses, sprung from his horse and took the lead. The little 
drummer, a child of scarcely ten years old, tripped gayly on, beat- 
ing his little pas de charge, seeming rather like the play of infancy 
than the summons to death and carnage, as the heavy guns of the 
French opened a volume of fire and flame to cover the attacking 


32 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


column ; for a moment all was hid from our eyes ; the moment 
after the grape shot swept along the narrow causeway, and the 
hedge, which, till a second before, was crowded with the life and 
courage of a noble column, was now one heap of dead and dying: 
the gallant fellow who led them on, fell among the first rank, and 
the little child, as if kneeling, was struck dead beside the parapet ; 
his fair hair floated across his cold features, and seemed in its mo- 
tion to lend a look of life, when the heart’s throb had ceased for 
ever. The artillery again re-opened upon us, and, when the smoke 
had cleared away, we discovered that the French had advanced to 
the middle of the bridge, and carried off the body of their general. 
Twice they essayed to cross, and twice the death-dealing fire of 
our guns covered the narrow bridge with slain, while, by the wild 
pibroch of the forty-second swelling madly into notes of exultation 
and triumph, the Highlanders could scarcely be prevented from 
advancing hand to hand with the foe. Gradually the French 
slackened their fire, their great guns were one by one withdrawn 
from the heights, and a dropping, irregular musketry at intervals 
sustained the fight, which, ere sunset, ceased altogether ; and thus 
terminated the battle of the Coa. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


33 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE NIGHT MARCH. 

Scarcely had the night fallen, when our retreat commenced. 
Tired and weary as our brave fellows felt, but little repose was 
allowed them; their bivouac fires were blazing brightly, and 
they had just thrown themselves in groups around them, when 
the word to fall in was passed from troop to troop, and from 
battalion to battalion, no trumpet, no bugle called them to their 
ranks. It was necessary that all should be done noiselessly and 
speedily, while, therefore, the wounded were marched to the front, 
and the heavy artillery with them, a brigade of light four pound- 
ers, and two squadrons of cavalry held the heights above the 
bridge, and the infantry, forming into three columns, began their 
march. 

My wound, forgotten in the heat and excitement of the conflict, 
was now becoming excessively painful, and I gladly availed my- 
self of a place in a wagon, where, stretched upon some fresh straw, 
with no other covering save the starry sky, I soon fell sound 
asleep, and neither the heavy jolting of the rough conveyance, 
nor the deep and rutty road were able to disturb my slumbers. 
Still, through my sleep, I heard the sounds around me, the heavy 
tramp of infantry, the clash of the moving squadrons, and the 
dull roll of artillery ; and ever and anon the half-stifled cry of 
pain, mingling with the reckless carol of some drinking song, 
all flitted through my dreams, lending to my thoughts of home and 
friends a memory of glorious war. 

All the vicissitudes of a soldier’s life passed then in review 
before me, elicited in some measure by the things about. The 
pomp and grandeur, the misery and meanness, the triumph, the 
defeat, the moment of victory, and the hour of death were there, 
and in that vivid dream I lived a life long. 

I awoke at length, the cold and chilling air which follows mid- 
night, blew around 'me, and my wounded arm felt as though it 
were frozen. I tried to cover myself beneath the straw, but in 
vain, and as my limbs trembled, and my teeth chattered, I thought 
again of home, where at that moment the poorest menial of my 
uncle’s house was better lodged than I, and, strange to say, some- 
thing of pride mingled with the thought, and in my lonely heart a 
feeling of elation cheered me. 

These reflections were interrupted by the sound of a voice near 

VoL. II.— 5 


34 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


me which I at once knew to be O’Shaughnessy’s: he was on foot, 
and speaking evidently in some excitement. 

I tell you, Maurice, some confounded blunder there must be ; 
sure he was left in that cottage near the bridge, and no one ever 
saw him after.” 

“ The French took it from the rifles before we crossed the river. 
By Jove, Pll wager my chance of promotion against a piilt of 
sherry, he’ll turn up somewhere in the morning; those Galway 
chaps have as many lives as a cat.” 

“ See, now, Maurice, I wouldn’t for a full colonelcy any thing 
would happen to him — I like the boy.” 

“ So do I myself ; but I tell you there’s no danger of him : did 
you ask Sparks any thing?” 

“ Ask Sparks, God help you ! Sparks would go off in a fit at 
the sight of me. No, no — poor creature, it’s little use it would be 
my speaking to him.” 

« Why so. Doctor,” cried I, from my straw couch. 

“ May I never, if it’s not him. Charley, my son, I’m glad you’re 
safe. ’Faith, I thought you were on your way to Verdun by this 
time.” 

‘‘ Sure, I told you he’d find his way here — but, O’Mealey, dear 
— you’re mighty could — a rigour, as old M^Lauchlan would call 
it.” 

“ E’en sae, Maister Quill,” said a broad Scotch accent behind 
him ; “ and 1 canna see ony objection to giein’ things their right 
names.” 

“ The top of the morning to you,” said Quill, familiarly patting 
iiini on the back, “how goes it, old brimstone ?” ' 

The conversation might not have taken a very amicable turn, 
had M‘Lauchlan heard the latter part of this speech ; but as hap- 
pily he was engaged unpacking a small canteen which he had 
placed in the wagon, it passed unnoticed. 

“ Ye’ll nae dislike a toothfu’ of something warm. Major,” said 
he, presenting a glass to O’Shaughnessy, “ and if ye’ll permit me. 
Mr. O’Mealey, to help you ” 

“ A thousand thanks. Doctor ; but I fear a broken arm.” 

“ There’s naething in the whisky to prevent the proper forma- 
tion of callus.” 

“ By the rock of Cashel, it never made any one callous,” said 
O’Shaughnessy, mistaking the import of the phrase. 

“ Ye are nae drinking frae the flask,” said the doctor, turning in 
some agitation towards Quill. 

“ Devil a bit, my darling. I’ve a little horn convaniency here, 
that holds half a pint, nice measure.” 

I don’t imagine that our worthy friend participated in Quill’s 
admiration of the “ convaniency,” for he added, in a dry tone : — 

“Ye may as weel tak your liquor frae a glass like a Christian, 
as stick your nose in a coo’s horn.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


35 


‘‘By my conscience, you’re no small judge of spirits, wherever 
you learned it,” said the major, “ it’s like Islay malt.” 

“ I was aye reckoned a good ane,” said the doctor, “and my 
mither’s brither, Caimbogie, had na his like in the north country. 
You maybe heered tell what he aince said to the Duchess of Ar- 
gyle, when she sent for him to taste her claret.” 

“ Never heard of it,” quoth Quill ; “let’s have it, by all means. 
I’d like to hear what the duchess said to him.” 

“ It was na what the duchess said to him, but what he said to 
the duchess, ye ken. The way of it was this. My uncle, Caim- 
bogie, was aye up at the castle, for, besides his knowledge of liquor, 
there was nae his match for deer-stalking, or spearing a salmon, in 
these parts. He was a great rough carle, it’s true, but ane ye’d 
rather crack wi’ than fight wi’. 

“ Weel, ae day they had a great dinner at the duke’s, and there 
were plenty o’ great southern lords and braw leddies in velvets and 
satin ; and vara muckle surprised they were at my uncle, when he 
came in wi’ his tartan kilt, in full Highland dress, as the head of a 
clan ought to do. Caimbogie, however, pe’d nae attention to them, 
but he eat his dinner and drank his wine, and talked away about 
fallow and red deer, and at last the duchess, for she was aye fond 
o’ him, addressed him frae the head o’ the table — 

“ ‘ Caimbogie,’ quoth she, ‘ I’d like to hae your opinion about 
that wine. It’s some the duke has just received, and we should 
like to hear what you think of it.’ 

“ ‘ It’s nae sae bad, my leddy,’ said my uncle ; for ye see he was 
a man of few words, and never flattered onybody. 

“ ‘ Then you don’t approve much of it ?’ said the duchess. 

“ ‘ I’ve drank better, and I’ve drank waur,’ quo’ he. 

‘ I’m sorry you don’t like it, Caimbogie,’ said the duchess, 
‘ for it can never be popular now, we have such a dependence upon 
your taste.’ 

“ ‘ I canna say ower muckle for my taste, my leddy, but ae thing 
I will say — I’ve a most damnable smell.’ 

“ I hear that never since the auld walls stood, was there ever 
the like o’ the laughing that followed : the puir duke himsel’ was 
carried away and nearly had a fit, and a’ the grand lords and led- 
dies a’most died of it. But see here, the carle has nae left a drap 
o’ whisky in the flask.” 

“ The last glass k drained to your respectable uncle’s health,” 
said Quill, with a most professional gravity : “ now, Charley, make 
a little room for me in the straw.” 

The doctor soon mounted beside me, and, giving me a share of 
his ample cloak, considerably ameliorated my situation. 

“ So you knew. Sparks, Doctor,” said I, with a strong curiosity 
to hear something of his early acquaintance. 

“That I did: I knew him when he was an ensign in the 10th 
foot ; and, to say the truth, he is not much changed since that time ; 


36 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


— the same lively look of a sick codfish about his grey eyes ; the 
same disorderly wave of his yellow hair ; the same sad whining 
voice, and that confounded apothecary’s laugh.” 

Come, come, Doctor, Sparks is a good fellow at heart : I won’t 
have him abused. I never knew he had been in the infantry ; I 
should think it must have been another of the same name.” 

‘‘ Not at all ; there’s only one like him in the service, and that’s 
liimself. Confound it, man, I’d know his skin upon a bush ; he 
was only three weeks in the 10th, and, indeed, your humble ser- 
vant has the whole merit of his leaving it so soon.” 

“ Do let me hear how that happened?” 

“ Simply thus — the jolly 10th were some four years ago the 
pleasantest corps in the army; from the lieutenant-colonel down to 
the last joined sub. all were out and outers, — real gay fellows. 
The mess was, in fact, like a pleasant club, and if you did not suit 
it, the best thing you could do was to sell out or exchange into a 
slower regiment ; and, indeed, this very wholesome truth was not 
very long in reaching your ears some way or other, and a man that 
could remain after being given this hint, was likely to go after- 
wards without one.” 

Just as Dr. Quill reached this part of his story, an orderly dra- 
goon galloped furiously past, and the next moment an aid-de- 
camp rode by, calling, as he passed us — 

Close up there — close up ! Get forward, my lads — get forward !” 

It was evident, from the stir and bustle about, that some move- 
ment was being made ; and soon after a dropping, irregular fire 
from the rear, showed that our cavalry were engaged with the 
enemy : the affair was scarcely of five minutes’ duration, and our 
march resumed all its former regularity immediately after. 

I now turned to the doctor to resume his story, but he was gone ; 
at what moment he left I could not say, but O’Shaughnessy was 
also absent ; nor did I again meet them for a considerable time 
after. 

Towards daybreak we halted at Bonares, when my wound de- 
manding rest and attention, I was billeted in the village, and con- 
signed to all the miseries of a sick-bed. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


37 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE JOURNEY. 

With that disastrous day my campaigning was destined, for 
some time at least, to conclude. My wound, which grew from 
hour to hour more threatening, at length began to menace the loss 
of the arm, and by the recommendation of the regimental surgeons, 
I was ordered hack to Lisbon. 

Mike, by this time perfectly restored, prepared every thing for 
my departure, and, on the third day after the battle of the Coa, I 
began my journey with downcast spirits and depressed heart. The 
poor fellow was, however, a kind and affectionate nurse, and, un- 
like many others, his cares were not limited to the mere bodily 
wants of his patient: he sustained, as well as he was able, my 
drooping resolution, rallied my spirits, and cheered my courage. 
With the very little Portuguese he possessed, he contrived to make 
every imaginable species of bargain ; always managed a good 
billet ; kept every one in good humour, and rarely left his quarters 
in the morning without a most affecting leave-taking, and reiterated 
promises to renew his visit. 

Our journeys were usually short ones, and already two days had 
elapsed, when towards nightfall we entered the little hamlet of 
Jaffra. During the entire of that day, the pain of my wounded 
limb had been excruciating ; the fatigue of the road and the heat 
had brought back violent inflammation, and, when at last the little 
village came in sight, my reason was fast yielding to the torturing 
agonies of my wound ; but the transports with which I greeted my 
resting-place were soon destined to a change : for, as we drew near, 
not a light was to be seen, not a sound to be heard, not even a dog 
barked, as the heavy mule cart rattled over the uneven road. No 
trace of any living thing was there : the little hamlet lay sleeping 
in the pale moonlight, its streets deserted, and its homes tenantless ; 
our own footsteps alone echoed along the dreary causeway; here 
and there, as we advanced farther, we found some relics of broken 
furniture and house gear ; most of the doors lay open, but nothing 
remained within save bare walls ; the embers still smoked in many 
places, upon the hearth, and showed us that the flight of the in- 
habitants had been recent. Yet every thing convinced us that the 
French had not been there; there was no trace of the reckless 
violence and wanton cruelty which marked their footsteps every- 
where. 

All proved that the desertion had been voluntary : perhaps in 
compliance with an order of our commander-in-chief, who fre- 

D 


38 


CHARLES o’mALLEYj 


quently desired any intended line of march of the enemy to be left 
thus a desert. As we sauntered slowly on from street to street, 
half hoping that some one human being yet remained behind, and 
casting our eyes from side to side in search of quarters for the night, 
Mike suddenly came running up, saying, 

I have it, sir — Pve found it out — there’s people living down 
that small street there — I saw a light this minute as I passed.” 

I turned immediately, and, accompanied by the mule driver, fol- 
lowed Mike across a little open square into a small and narrow 
street, at the end of which a light was seen faintly twinkling: we 
hurried on, and in a few minutes reached a high wall of solid 
masonry, from a niche of which we now discovered, to our utter 
disappointment, the light proceeded. It was a small lamp placed 
before a little waxen image of the Virgin, and was probably the 
last act of piety of some poor villager, ere he left his home and 
hearth forever : there it burned brightly and tranquilly, throwing 
its mellow ray upon the cold deserted stones. 

Whatever impatience 1 might have given way to in a moment 
of chagrin, was soon repressed, as I saw my two followers, un- 
covering their heads in silent reverence, kneel down before the little 
shrine. There was something at once touching and solemn in this 
simultaneous feeling of homage from the hearts of those removed 
hi country, language, and in blood : they bent meekly down ; their 
heads bowed upon their bosoms, while with muttering voices each 
offered up his prayer. All sense of their disappointment, all 
memory of their forlorn state, seemed to have yielded to more 
powerful and absorbing thoughts as they opened their hearts in 
prayer. 

My eyes were still fixed upon them, when suddenly Mike, 
whose devotion seemed of the briefest, sprung to his legs, and with 
a spirit of levity, but little in accordance with his late proceedings, 
commenced a series of kicking, rapping, and knocking at a small 
oak postern, sufficient to have aroused a whole convent from their 
cells. “ House there ! — good people within !” — bang, bang, bang : 
but the echoes alone responded to his call, and the sounds died 
away at length in the distant streets, leaving all as silent and dreary 
as before. 

Our Portuguese friend, who by this time had finished his orisons, 
now began a vigorous attack upon the small door, and, with the 
assistance of Mike, armed with a fragment of granite about the 
size of a man’s head, at length separated the frame from the hinges, 
and sent the whole mass prostrate before us. 

The moon was just rising as we entered the little park, where 
gravelled walks, neatly kept and well trimmed, bespoke recent 
care. and attention ; following a handsome alley of lime trees, we 
reached a little jet d^eav, whose sparkling fountain shone like 
diamonds in the moon-beams ; and, escaping from the edge of a 
vast shell, ran murmuring amid mossy stones and water lilies, that, 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


39 


however naturally they seemed thrown around, bespoke also the 
hand of taste in their position. On turning from the spot, we came 
directly in front of an old but handsome chateau^ before which 
stretched a terrace of considerable extent. Its balustraded parapet, 
lined with orange trees, now in full blossom, scented the still air 
with their delicious odour ; marble statues peeped here and there 
amid the foliage, while a rich acacia^ loaded with flowers, covered 
the walls of the building, and hung in vast masses of variegated 
blossoms across the tall windows. 

As, leaning on Mike’s arm, I slowly ascended the steps of the 
terrace, I was more than ever struck with the silence and deathlike 
stillness around ; except the gentle plash of the fountain, all was 
at rest ; the very plants seemed to sleep in the yellow moonlight, 
and not a trace of any living thing was there. 

The massive door lay open as we entered the spacious hall, 
flagged with marble, and surrounded with armorial bearings. We 
advanced farther, and came to a broad and handsome stair, which 
led us to a long gallery, from which a suite of rooms opened, look- 
ing towards the front part of the building. Wherever we went, 
the furniture appeared perfectly untouched ; nothing was removed ; 
the very chairs were grouped around the windows and the tables ; 
books, as if suddenly dropped from their readers’ hands, were scat- 
tered upon the sofas and the ottomans ; and, in one small apart- 
ment, whose blue satin walls and damask drapery bespoke a 
boudoir, a rich mantilla of black velvet and a silk glove were 
thrown upon a chair. It was clear the desertion had been most 
recent ; and every thing indicated that no time had been given to 
the fugitives to prepare for flight. What a sad picture of war was 
there ! to think of those whose home, endeared to them by all the 
refinements of cultivated life, and all the associations of years of 
happiness, sent out upon the wide world, — wanderers, and house- 
less ; while their hearth, sacred by every tie that binds us to our 
kindred, was to be desecrated by the ruthless and savage hands of 
a ruffian soldiery. I thought of them : perhaps at that very hour 
their thoughts were clinging round the old walls ; remembering 
each well beloved spot, while they took their lonely path through 
mountain and through valley : and felt ashamed and abashed at 
my own intrusion there. While thus my revery ran on, I had not 
perceived that Mike, whose views were very practical upon all oc- 
casions, had lighted a most cheerful fire upon the hearth, and, dis- 
posing « feirge sofa before it, had carefully closed the curtains, and 
was in fact making himself and his master as much at home as 
though he had spent his life there. 

Isn’t it a beautiful place, Misther Charles ? and this little room, 
doesn’t it remind you of the blue bed-room in O’Malley Castle, 
barrin the elegant view out upon the Shannon, and the mountain 
of Scariflr?” 


40 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


Nothing short of Mike’s patriotism could forgive such a com- 
parison ; but, however, I did not contradict him, as he ran on : — 
Faith, I knew well there was luck in store for us this evening ; 
and ye see the handful of prayers I threw away outside wasn’t 
lost. Jose’s making the beasts comfortable in the stable, and I’m 
thinking we’ll none of us complain of our quarters. But you’re 
not eating your supper ; and the beautiful hare pie that I stole this 
morning, won’t you taste it ? — well, a glass of Malaga — not a glass 
of Malaga ? 0, mother of Moses ! what’s this for ?” 

Unfortunately, the fever, produced by the long and toilsome 
journey, had gained considerably on me, and, except copious liba- 
tions of cold water, I could touch nothing ; my arm, too, was much 
more painful than before. Mike soon perceived that rest and 
quietness were most important to me at the moment, and, having 
with difficulty been prevailed upon to swallow a few hurried 
mouthfuls, the poor fellow, having disposed cushions around me 
in every imaginable form for comfort, and having placed my 
wounded limb in its easiest position, extinguished the lamp, and 
sat silently down beside the hearth, without speaking another 
word. 

Fatigue and exhaustion, more powerful than pain, soon produ- 
ced their effects upon me, and I fell asleep, but it was no refresh- 
ing slumber which visited my heavy eyelids ; the slow fever of 
suffering had been hour by hour increasing, and my dreams 
presented nothing but scenes of agony and torture. Now I 
thought that, unhorsed and wounded, I was trampled beneath the 
clanging hoofs of charging cavalry; now I felt the sharp steel 
piercing my flesh, and heard the loud cry of a victorious enemy ; 
then methought I was stretched upon a litter, covered with gore 
and mangled by a grape shot. I thought I saw my brother officers 
approach and look sadly upon me, while one, whose face I could 
not remember, muttered, I should not have known him.” The 
dreadful hospital of Talavera, and all its scenes of agony, came up 
before me, and I thought that I lay waiting my turn for amputa- 
tion : this last impression, more horrible to me than all the rest, 
made me spring from my couch, and I awoke ; the cold drops of 
perspiration stood upon my brow, my mouth was parched and 
open, and my temples throbbed so, that I could count their beat- 
ings; for some seconds I could not throw off the frightful illusion 
I laboured under, and it was only by degrees I recovered con- 
sciousness and remembered where I was. Before me, and on one 
side of the bright wood-fire sat Mike, who, apparently deep in 
thought, gazed fixedly at the blaze : the start I gave on awaken- 
ing had not attracted his attention, and I could see as the flickering 
glare fell upon his features,^hat he was pale and ghastly, while his 
eyes were riveted upon the fire; his lips moved rapidly, as if in 
prayer, and his locked hands were pressed firmly upon his bosom ; 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


41 


his voice, at first inaudible, I could gradually distinguish, and at 
length heard the following muttered sentences : — 

0, mother of mercy ! so far from his home and his people, 
and so young, to die in a strange land : there it is again.’’ Here 
he appeared listening to some sounds from without. Oh, wirra, 
wirra, I know it well ! — the winding sheet, the winding sheet ! 
there it is, my own eyes saw it !” The tears coursed fast upon 
his pale cheeks, and his voice grew almost inaudible : as, rocking 
to and fro, for some time he seemed in a very stupor of grief, 
when at last, in a faint, subdued tone, he broke into one of those 
sad and plaintive airs of his country, which only need the moment 
of depression to make them wring the very heart in agony. 

His song was that to which Moore has appended the beautiful 
words, Come rest on this bosom but the burden of his sad 
melody ran thus ; — 

“ The day was declining, 

The dark night drew near, 

And the old lord grew sadder, 

And paler with fear. 

Come listen, my daughter. 

Come nearer — O ! near, 

It’s the wind or the water 
• That sighs in my ear. 

“Not the wind nor the water 
Now stirr’d the night air, 

But a warning far sadder — 

The banshee was there, 

Now rising, now swelling, 

On the night wind it bore 
One cadence, still telling, 

I want thee, Rossmore ! 

“And then fast came his breath, 

And more fix’d grew his eye ; 

And the shadow of death 
Told his hour was nigh. 

Ere the dawn of that morning 
The struggle was o’er. 

For when thrice came the warning — 

A corpse was Rossmore !” 

The plaintive air to which these words were sung fell heavily 
upon my heart, and it needed but the low and nervous condition I 
was in to make me feel their application to myself. But so it is, 
the very superstition your reason rejects and your sense spurns, 
has, from old association, from habit, and from mere nationality, 
too, a hold upon your hopes and fears that demands more firmness 
and courage than a sick-bed possesses to combat with success, and 
I now listened with an eager ear to mark if the banshee cried, 
rather than sought to fortify myself by any recurrence to my own 

VoL. II.— 6 . D 2 


42 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


convictions. Meanwhile Mike’s attitude became one of listening 
attention : not a finger moved ; he scarce seemed even to breathe : 
the state of suspense I suffered from was maddening, and, at last, 
unable to bear it longer, I was about to speak, when suddenly, from 
the floor beneath us, one long-sustained note swelled upon the air 
and died away again, and immediately after, to the cheerful sounds 
of a guitar, we heard the husky voice of our Portuguese guide, in- 
dulging himself in a love ditty. 

Ashamed of myself, for my fears, I kept silent ; but Mike, who 
felt only one sensation, — ^that of unmixed satisfaction at his niis- 
take, — rubbed his hands pleasantly, filled up his glass, drank it, 
and refilled; while, with an accent of re-assured courage, he briefly 
remarked : — 

Well, Mr. Jos6, if that be singing, upon my conscience, I won- 
der what crying is like !” 

I could not forbear a laugh at the criticism, and, in a moment, 
the poor fellow, who, up to that moment, believed me sleeping, 
was beside me. I saw from his manner that he dreaded lest 1 had 
been listening to his melancholy song, and had overheard any of 
his gloomy forebodings, and, as he cheered my spirits, and spoke 
encouragingly, I could remark, that he made more than usual 
endeavours to appear light-hearted and at ease. Determined, 
however, not to let him escape so easily, I questioned him about 
his belief in ghosts and spirits ; at which he endeavoured, as he 
ever did when the subject was an unpleasing one, to avoid the 
discussion ; but rather perceiving that I indulged in no irreverent 
disrespect of these matters, he grew gradually more open, treating 
the affair with that strange mixture of credulity and mockery, 
which formed his estimate of most things. Now seeming to sup- 
pose that any palpable rejection of them might entail sad conse- 
quences in future ; now half ashamed to go the whole length in his 
credulity. 

‘^And so, Mike, you never saw a ghost yourself? — that you 
acknowledge ?” 

“ No, sir, I never saw a real ghost ; but sure there’s many a 
thing I never saw ; but Mrs. Moore, the housekeeper, seen two. 

And your grandfather, that’s gone, — the Lord be good to him, 

used to walk once a year in Lurra Abbey; and sure you know the 
story about Tim Clinchy, that was seen every Saturday night 
coming out of the cellar with a candle and a mug of wine, and a 
pipe in his mouth, till Mr. Barry laid him. It cost his honour, your 
uncle, ten pounds in masses to make him easy; not to speak of a 
new lock and two bolts on the cellar door.” 

‘‘ I have heard all about that ; but, as you never yourself saw 
any of these things— — ” 

‘‘But sure my father did, and that’s the same any day. My 
father seen the greatest ghost that ever was seen in the county 
Cork, and spent the evening with him, that’s more.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


43 


. Spent the evening with him ! — what do you mean 
“ Just that, devil a more nor less. If your honour wasn’t so 
weak, and the story wasn’t a trying one, I’d like to tell it to 
you.” 

Out with it, by all means, Mike ; I am not disposed to sleep ; 
and now that we are upon these matters, my curiosity is strongly 
excited by your worthy father’s experience.” 

Thus encouraged, having trimmed the fire, and reseated himself 
beside the blaze, Mike began ; but, as a ghost is no every-day per- 
sonage in our history, I must give him a chapter to himself. 


44 


CHARLES o’MALLEr, 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE GHOST. 

‘‘Well, I believe your honour heard me tell long ago, how my 
father left the army, and the way, that he took to another line of 
life, that was more to his liking. And so it was, he was happy 
as the day was long ; he drove a hearse for Mr. Callaghan, of 
Cork, for many years ; and a pleasant place it was ; for, ye see, 
my father was a ’cute man, and knew something of the world : 
and, though he was a droll devil, and could sing a funny song 
when he was among the boys, no sooner had he the big black 
cloak on him, and the weepers, and he seated on the high box, with 
the six long-tailed blacks before him, you’d really think it was his 
own mother that was inside, he looked so melancholy and mise- 
rable. The sexton and grave-digger was nothing to my father ; 
and he had a look about his eye — to be sure there was a reason 
for it — that you’d think he was up all night crying ; though it’s 
little indulgence he took that way. 

“ Well, of all Mr. Callaghan’s men, there was none so 
great a favourite as my father : the neighbours were all fond 
of him. 

“ ‘ A kind crayture, every inch of him,’ the women would say. 

‘ Did ye see his face at Mrs. Delany’s funeral ?’ 

“ ‘ True for you,’ another would' remark ; ‘ he mistook the road 
with grief, and stopped at a shebeen house instead of Kilmurry 
church.’ 

“ I need say no more, only one thing, that it was principally 
among the farmers and the country people my father was liked 
so much. The great people, and the quality — I ax your pardon : 
but sure isn’t it true. Mister Charles, they don’t fret so much 
after their fathers and brothers, and they care little who’s driving 
them, whether it was a decent, respectable man like my father, 
or a chap with a grin on him like a rat-trap ? And so it hap- 
pened, that my father used to travel half the county ; going here 
and there wherever there was trade stirring ; and, faix, a man 
didn’t think himself rightly buried if my father wasn’t there: 
for ye see he knew all about it ; he could tell to a quart of 
spirits what would be wanting for a wake ; he knew all the 
good criers for miles round ; and I’ve heard it was a beautiful 
sight to see him standing on a hill, arranging the procession as 
they walked into the churchyard, and giving the word like 
a captain. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


45 


^Come on/ the stiff— -now the friends of the stiff— now de 
poplace.^ 

“ That’s what he used to say ; and, troth, he was always re- 
peating it when he was a little gone in drink — for that’s the time 
his spirits would rise — and he’d think he was burying half 
Munster. 

‘‘ And sure it was a real pleasure and a pride to be buried in 
them times ; for av it was only a small farmer with a potato 
garden, my father would come down with the black cloak on 
him, and three yards of crape behind his hat, and set all the 
children crying and yelling for half a mile round ; and then the 
way he’d walk before them with a spade on his shoulder, and, 
sticking it down in the ground, clap his hat on the top of it, 
to make it look like a chief mourner. It was a beautiful 
sight !” 

But, Mike, if you indulge much longer in this flattering re- 
collection of your father, I’m afraid we shall lose sight of the ghost 
entirely.” 

‘‘No fear in life, your honour, I’m coming to him now : well, 
it was this way it happened. In the winter of the great frost, 
about forty-two or forty-three years ago, the ould priest of Tul- 
loughmurray took ill and died: he was sixty years priest of 
the parish, and mightily beloved by all the people ; and good 
reason for it; a pleasanter man, and a more social crayture 
never lived: ’twas himself was the life of the whole country 
side. A wedding nor a christening wasn’t lucky av he wasn’t 
there, sitting at the top of the table, with, maybe, his arm round 
the bride herself, or the baby on his lap ; a smoking jug of punch 
before him, and as much kindness in his eye as would make 
the fortunes of twenty hypocrites, if they had it among them. 
And then he was so good to the poor ; the Priory was always 
full of ould men and ould women, sitting around the big fire in 
the kitchen, that the cook could hardly get near it. There 
they were eating their meals and burning their shins, till they 
were speckled like a trout’s back, and grumbling all the time ; but 
Father Dwyer liked them, and he would have them. 

“ ‘ Where have they to go,’ he’d say, ‘ av it wasn’t to me ? give 
Molly Kinshela a lock of that bacon. Tim, it’s a cowld morning. 
Will ye have a taste of the “ dew ?” ’ 

“ Ah ! that’s the way he’d spake to them : but sure good- 
ness is no warrant for living, any more than devilment; and 
so he got cowld in his feet at a station, and he rode home in 
the heavy snow without his big coat — for he gave it away 
to a blind man on the road — in three days he was dead. 

“ I see you’re getting impatient ; so I’ll not stop to say what 
grief was in the parish when it was known : but troth there never 
was seen the like before ; not a crayture would lift a spade for 
two days ; and there was more whisky sold in that time than 


46 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


at the whole Ulster fair. Well, on the third day the funeral set 
out ; and never was the equal of it in them parts ; first, there was 
my father : he came special from Cork, with the six horses all in 
new black, and plumes like little poplar trees; then came Father 
Dwyer, followed by the two coadjutors in beautiful surplices, 
walking bare-headed, with the little boys of the Priory-school, 
two and two.’^ 

Well, Mike, Pm sure it was very fine ; but for heaven’s sake 
spare me all these descriptions, and get on to the ghost.” 

’Faith your honour’s in a great hurry for the ghost; maybe 
you won’t like him when ye have him; but Pll go faster, if you 
please. Well, Father Dwyer, ye see, was born at Aghan-lish, of 
an ould family, and he left it in his will that he was to be buried 
in the family vault; and as Aghan-lish was eighteen miles up the 
mountains, it was getting late when they drew near. By that time 
the great procession was all broke up and gone home. The 
coadjutors stopped to dine at the ^ Blue Bellows,’ at the cross- 
roads; the little boys took to pelting snow-balls; there was a 
fight or two on the way, besides, and, in fact, except an ould deaf 
fellow that my father took to mind the horses, he was quite 
alone. Not that he minded that same ; for when the crowd was 
gone, my father began to sing a droll song, and tould the deaf 
chap that it was a lamentation. At last they came in sight of 
Aghan-lish. It was a lonesome, melancholy looking place, with 
nothing near it except two or three ould fir trees, and a small 
slated house with one window, where the sexton lived ; and even 
that same was shut up, and a padlock on the door. Well, my 
father was not over much pleased at the look of matters ; but, as 
he was never hard put to, what to do, he managed to get the 
coffin into the vestry ; and then when he unharnessed the horses, 
he sent the deaf fellow with them down to the village to tell the 
priest that the corpse was there, and to come up early in the 
morning and perform mass. The next thing to do was to make 
himself comfortable for the night ; and then he made a roaring 
fire on the old hearth — for there was plenty of bog fir there — 
closed the windows with the black cloaks, and wrapping two 
around himself, he sat down to cook a little supper he brought 
with him in case of need. 

« Well, you may think it was melancholy enough to pass the 
night up there alone with a corpse, in an old ruined church, in the 
middle of the mountains, the wind howling about on every side, 
and the snow drift beating against the walls ; but as the fire burned 
brightly, and the little plate of rashers and eggs smoked temptingly 
before him, my father mixed a jug of the strongest punch, and sat 
down as happy as a king. As long as he was eating away, he had 
no time to be thinking of any thing else ; but, when all was done, 
and he looked about him, he began to feel very low and melan- 
choly in his heart. There was the great black coffin on three 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


47 


chairs in the cprner ; and then the mourning cloaks that he had 
stuck up against the windows moved backward and forward like 
living things ; and, outside, the wild cry of the plover as he flew 
past, and the night owl sitting in a nook of the old church. ‘ I 
wish it was morning, anyhow,’ said my father ; ‘ for this is a lone- 
some place to be in; and, faix, he’ll be a cunning fellow that 
catches me passing the night this way again.’ Now there was one 
thing distressed him most of all : my father used always to make 
fun of the ghosts and sperits the neighbours would tell of, pretend- 
ing there was no such thing ; and now the thought came to him, 
‘ Maybe they’ll revenge themselves on me to-night when they have 
me up here alone and with that he made another jug stronger 
than the first, and tried to remember a few prayers in case of need : 
but somehow his mind was not too clear, and he said afterwards 
he was always mixing up ould songs and toasts with the prayers, 
and when he thought he had just got hold of a beautiful psalm, it 
would turn out to be ^ Tatter Jack Walsh,’ or ‘ Limping James,’ or 
something like that. The storm, meanwhile, was rising every 
moment, and parts of the old abbey were falling, as the wind shook 
the ruin, and my father’s sperits, notwithstanding the punch, were 
lower than ever.^ 

“ ^ I made it too weak,’ said he, as he set to work on a new 
jorum ; and troth this time that was not the fault of it, for the first 
sup nearly choked him. 

‘‘‘Ah!’ said he now, ‘I knew what it was; this is like the 
thing ; and, Mr. Free, you are beginning to feel easy and comfort- 
able : pass the jug : your very good health and song. I’m a little 
hoarse, it’s true, but if the company will excuse ’ 

“ And then he began knocking on the table with his knuckles as 
if there was a room full of people asking him to sing. In short, 
my father was drunk as a fiddler ; the last brew finished him ; and 
he began roaring away all kinds of droll songs, and telling all 
manner of stories, as if he was at a great party. 

“ While he was capering this way about the room, he knocked 
down his hat, and with it a pack of cards he put into it before 
leaving home, for he was mighty fond of a game. 

“ ‘ Will ye take a hand, Mr. Free ?’ said he, as he gathered them 
up and sat down beside the fire. 

“ ‘ I’m convanient,’ said he, and began dealing out as if there 
was a partner fornenst him. 

“ When my father used to get this far in the story, he became 
very confused. He says, that once or twice he mistook the liquor, 
and took a pull at the bottle of potteen instead of the punch ; and 
the last thing he remembers was asking poor Father Dwyer if he 
would draw near to the fire, and not be lying there near the 
door. 

“ With that he slipped down on the ground and fell fast asleep. 
How long he lay that way he could never tell. When he awoke 


48 


CHARLES o’mALLET, 


and looked up, his hair nearly stood on an end with fright. What 
do you think he seen fornenst him, sitting at the other side of the 
fire, but Father Dwyer himself : there he was — divil a lie in it — 
wrapped up in one of the mourning cloaks, trying to warm his 
hands at the fire. 

‘ Salve hoc nomine patri V said my father, crossing himself ; 
‘ av it’s your ghost, God presarve me !’ 

‘ Good evening t’ye, Mr. Free,’ said the ghost ; ‘ and av I 
might be bould, what’s in the jug ?’ — for ye see my father had it 
under his arm fast, and never let it go when he was asleep. 

“ ‘ Pater noster qui es in potteen, sir,’ said my father, 

for the ghost didn’t look pleased at his talking Latin. 

‘ Ye might have the politeness to ax if one had a mouth on 
him,’ then says the ghost. 

‘‘ < Sure, I didn’t think the like of you would taste sperits.’ 

« ‘Try me,’ said the ghost ; and with that he filled out a glass, 
and tossed it off like a Christian. 

“ ‘ Beamish !’ says the ghost, smacking his lips. 

“ ‘ The same,’ says my father ; ‘ and sure what’s happened you 
has not spoilt your taste.’ 

“ ‘ If you’d mix a little hot,’ says the ghost, ‘ I’m thinking it 
would be better ; the night is mighty sevare.’ 

“ ‘ Any thing that your reverence pleases,’ says my father, as he 
began to blow up a good fire to boil the water. 

“ ‘ And what news is stirring ?’ says the ghost. 

“ ‘ Devil a word, your reverence : your own funeral was the 
only thing doing last week; times is bad; except the measles, 
there’s nothing in our parts.’ 

“ ‘ And we’re quite dead hereabouts too,’ says the ghost. 

“ ‘ There’s some of us so, anyhow,’ says my father, with a sly 
look. ‘ Taste that, your reverence.’ 

“ ‘ Pleasant and refreshing,’ says the ghost ; ‘ and now, Mr. 
Free, what do you say to a little spoil five, or beggar my neigh- 
bour ?’ 

“ ‘ What will we play for ?’ says my father ; for a thought just 
struck him, — ‘ maybe it’s some trick of the devil to catch my soul.’ 

“ ‘ A pint of Beamish,’ says the ghost. 

“‘Done,’ says my father; ‘cut for deal; the ace of clubs; you 
have it.’ 

“ Now the whole time the ghost was dealing the cards, my father 
never took his eyes off of him, for he wasn’t quite asy in his mind 
at all ; but when he saw him turn up the trump, and take a strong 
drink afterwards, he got more at ease, and began the game. 

“ How long they played it was never rightly known ; but one 
thing is sure, they drank a cruel deal of sperits ; three quart bottles 
my father brought with him were all finished, and by that time his 
brain was so confused with the liquor, and all he lost, — for some- 
how he never won a game, — that he was getting very quarrelsome. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


49 


‘ You have your own luck to it/ says he, at last. 

‘‘ ‘ True for you ; and, besides, we play a great deal where I 
come from.’ 

“‘I’ve heard so/ says my father. ‘I lead the knave, sir/ 
‘ spades ! bad ’cess to it, lost again.’ 

“Now it was really very distressing; for by this time, though 
they only began for a pint of Beamish, my father went on betting 
till he lost the hearse and all the six horses, mourning cloaks, 
plumes, and every thing. 

“ ‘ Are you tired, Mr. Free ? maybe you’d like to stop ?’ 

“ ‘ Stop ! faith, it’s a nice time to stop ; of course not.’ 

“ ‘ Well, what will ye play for now ?’ 

“ The way he said these words brought a trembling all over my 
father, and his blood curdled in his heart. ‘ Och, murther !’ says he 
to himself, ‘ it’s my sowl he is wanting all the time.’ 

“ ‘ I’ve mighty little left/ says my father, looking at him keenly, 
while he kept shuffling the cards quick as lightning. 

“ ‘ Mighty little ; no matter, we’ll give you plenty of time to pay ; 
and if you can’t do it, it shall never trouble you as long as you 
live.^ 

“ ‘ Oh, you murthering devil !’ says my father, flying at him with 
a spade that he had behind his chair, ‘ I’ve found you out.’ 

“ With one blow he knocked him down ; and now a terrible 
fight begun, for the ghost was very strong too : but my father’s 
blood was up, and he’d have faced the devil himself then. They 
rolled over each other several times, the broken bottles cutting them 
to pieces, and the chairs and tables crashing under them. At last 
the ghost took the bottle that lay on the hearth, and levelled my 
father to the ground with one blow ; down he fell, and the bottle 
and the whisky were both dashed into the fire ; that was the end 
of it, for the ghost disappeared that moment in a blue flame that 
nearly set fire to my father as he lay on the floor. 

“ Och ! it was a cruel sight to see him next morning, with his 
cheek cut open, and his hands all bloody, lying there by himself ; 
all the broken glass, and the cards all round him : the coffin too 
was knocked down off* the chair ; maybe the ghost had trouble get- 
ting into it. However that was, the funeral was put off* for a day ; 
for my father couldn’t speak, and, as for the sexton, it was a queer 
thing, but when they came to call him in the morning, he had two 
black eyes, and a gash over his ear, and he never knew how he 
got them. It was easy enough to know the ghost did it; but my 
father kept the secret, and never told it to any man, woman, or 
child in them parts.” 


Yol. 11.-7 


E 


50 


CHARLES o’mALLET, 


CHAPTER IX. 

LISBON. 

I HAVE little power to trace the events which occupied the suc- 
ceeding three weeks of my history. The lingering fever which 
attended my wound detained me during that time at the chateau ; 
and when at last I did reach Lisbon, the winter was already be- 
ginning, and it was upon a cold, raw evening that I once more took 
possession of my old quarters at the Quay de Soderi. 

My eagerness and anxiety to learn something of the campaign 
was ever uppermost, and no sooner had I reached my destination, 
than I despatched Mike to the quartermaster’s office, to pick up 
some news, and hear which of my friends and brother officers 
were then at Lisbon. I was sitting in a state of nervous impa- 
tience, watching for his return, when at length I heard footsteps 
approaching my room, and the next moment, Mike’s voice, say- 
ing, “ The ould room, sir, where he was before.” The door sud- 
denly opened, and my friend Power stood before me. 

“ Charley, my boy” — Fred, my fine fellow,” was all either 
could say for some minutes, tipon my part, the recollection of 
his bold and manly bearing in my behalf, choked all utterance ; 
while, upon his, my haggard cheek and worn look produced an 
effect so sudden and unexpected that he became speechless. 

In a few minutes, however, we both rallied, and opened our 
Stores of mutual remembrances since we parted. My career I 
found he was perfectly acquainted with, and his consisted of no- 
thing but one unceasing round of gayety and pleasure. Lisbon 
had been delightful during the summer ; parties to Cintra, excur- 
sions through the surrounding country, were of daily occurrence ; 
and, as my friend was a favourite everywhere, his life was one of 
continued amusement. 

“ Do you know, Charley, had it been any pther man than your- 
self, I should not have spared him ; for I have fallen head over 
ears in love with your little dark-eyed Portuguese.” 

“ Ah ! Donna Inez, you mean.” 

“ Yes, it is her I mean, and you need not affect such an air of 
uncommon nonchalance. She’s the loveliest girl in Lisbon, and 
with fortune to pay off all the mortgages in Connemara.” 

“ 0 ! faith, I admire her amazingly ; but, as I never flattered 
myself upon any preference” — 

“ Come, come, Charley, no concealment, my old fellow ; every 


THE Irish dragoon. 


51 


one knows the thing’s settled. Your old friend, Sir George Dash- 
wood, told me yesterday.” 

‘‘ Yesterday ! Why, is he here ; at Lisbon ?” 

“ To be sure he is ; didn’t I tell you that before } Confound it, 
what a head I have ! Why, man, he’s come out as deputy adju- 
tant-general : but for him, I should not have got renewed leave.” 

“ And Miss Dash wood, is she here ?” 

“ Yes, she came with him. By Jove, how handsome she is; 
quite a different style of thing from our dark friend; but, to rny 
thinking, even handsomer. Hammersly seems of my opinion, 
too.” 

How ! is Hammersly at Lisbon ?” 

On the staff here. But, confound it, what makes you so red ? 
you have no ill feeling towards him now. I know he speaks most 
warmly of you ; no later than last night, at Sir George’s ” 

What Power was about to add I know not, for I sprung from 
my chair, with a sudden start, and walked to the window, to con- 
ceal my agitation from him. 

‘‘And so,” said I, at length regaining my composure in some 
measure, “ Sir George also spoke of my name in connexion with 
the senhora ?” 

“ To be sure he did. All Lisbon does. Why, what can you 
mean ? But I see, my dear boy ; you know you are not of the 
strongest; and we’ve been talking far too long. Come, now, 
Charley, I’ll say good-night. I’ll be with you at breakfast to-mor- 
row, and tell you all the gossip ; meanwhile, promise me to get 
quietly to bed, and so, good-night.” 

Such was the conflicting state of feeling I suffered from, that I 
made no effort to detain Power. I longed to be once more alone, 
to think — calmly, if I could — over the position I stood in, and to 
resolve upon my plans for the future. 

My love for Lucy Dashwood had been long rather a devotion 
than a hope. My earliest dawn of manly ambition was associated 
with the first hour I met her.. She it was who first touched my 
boyish heart, and suggested a sense of chivalrous ardour within 
me ; and, even though lost to me forever, I could still regard her 
as the mainspring of my actions, and dwell upon my passion as 
the thing that hallowed every enterprise of my life. 

In a word, my love, however little it might reach her heart, was 
every thing to mine. It was the worship of the devotee to his 
protecting saint. It was the faith that made me rise above mis- 
fortune and mishap, and led me onward ; and in this way I could 
have borne any thing, every thing, rather than the imputation of 
fickleness. 

Lucy might not — nay, I felt she did not — love me. It was pos- 
sible that some other was preferred before me ; but to doubt my 
own affection, to suspect my own truth, was to destroy all ithe 


52 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


charm of my existence, and to extinguish within me forever the 
enthusiasm that made me a hero to my own heart. 

It may seem but poor philosophy ; but, alas ! how many of our 
happiest, how many of our brightest thoughts here, are but delu- 
sions like this ! The dayspring of youth gilds the tops of the dis- 
tant mountains before us, and many a weary day through life, 
when clouds and storms are thickening around us, we live upon 
the mere memory of the past. Some fast-flitting prospect of a 
bright future, some passing glimpses of a sunlit valley, tinge all 
our after years. 

It is true that he will sufl’er fewer disappointments, he will incur 
fewer of the mishaps of the world, who indulges in no fancies such 
as these ; but equally true is it that he will taste none of that exu- 
berant happiness which is that man’s portion who weaves out a 
story of his life, and who, in connecting the promise of early 
years with the performance of later, will seek to fulfil a fate and 
destiny. 

Weaving such fancies, I fell sound asleep, nor woke before the 
stir and bustle of the great city aroused me. Power, I found, had 
been twice at my quarters that morning, but, fearing to disturb me, 
had merely left a few lines to say that, as he should be engaged 
on service during the day, we could not meet before the evening. 
There were certain preliminaries requisite regarding my leave 
which demanded my appearing before a board of medical ofiicers, 
and I immediately set about dressing, resolving that, as soon as 
they were completed, I should, if permitted, retire to one of the small 
cottages on the opposite bank of the Tagus, there to remain until 
my restored health allowed me to rejoin my regiment. 

I dreaded meeting the Dashwoods. T anticipated with a heavy 
heart how effectually one passing interview would destroy all my 
day-dreams of happiness, and I preferred any thing to the sad 
conviction of hopelessness such a meeting must lead to. 

While I thus balanced with myself how to proceed, a gentle step 
came to the door, and, as it opened slowly, a servant in a dark 
livery entered. 

‘‘ Mr. O’Malley, sir ?” 

“ Yes,” said I, wondering to whom my arrival could be thus early 
known. 

“ Sir George Dashwood requests you will step over to him as 
soon as you go out,” continued the man ; “ he is so engaged that 
he cannot leave home, but is most desirous to see you.” 

It is not far from here ?” 

“ No, sir ; scarcely five minutes’ walk.” 

<< Well, then, if you will show me the way, I’ll follow you.” 

I cast one passing glance at myself to see that all was right 
about my costume, and sallied forth. 

In the middle of the Black Horse Square, at the door of a large 


THE itllSH DRAGOON. 


53 


Stone-fronted building, a group of military men were assembled, 
chatting and laughing away together; some reading the lately- 
arrived English papers; others were lounging upon the stone 
parapet, carelessly puffing their cigars. None of the faces were 
known to me ; so, threading my way through the crowd, I reached 
the steps. Just as I did so, a half-muttered whisper met my 
ear — 

“ Who did you say ?” 

O’Malley, the young Irishman, who behaved so gallantly at 
the Douro.” 

The blood rushed hotly to my cheek ; my heart bounded with 
exultation ; my step, infirm and tottering but a moment before, 
became fixed and steady, and I felt a thrill of proud enthusiasm 
playing through my veins. How little did the speaker of these 
few and random words know what courage he had given to a 
drooping heart, what renewed energy to a breaking spirit. The 
voice of praise, too, coming from those to whom we had thought 
ourselves unknown, has a magic about it that must be felt to be 
understood. So it happened, that in a few seconds a revolution 
had taken place in all my thoughts and feelings, and I, who had 
left my quarters dispirited and depressed, now walked confidently 
and proudly forward. 

Mr. O’Malley, sir,” said the servant to the officer in waiting, 
as we entered the antechamber. 

Ah ! Mr. O’Malley,” said the aid-de-camp, in his blandest 
accent, “ I hope you’re better. Sir George is most anxious to see 
you ; he is at present engaged with the stafl* ” 

A bell rang at the moment, and cut short the sentence ; he 
flew to the door of the inner room, and returning in an instant, 
said — 

Will you follow me ? This way, if you please.” 

The room was crowded with general officers and aids-de-camp, 
so that for a second or two I could not distinguish the parties ; but 
no sooner was my name announced, than Sir George Dashwood, 
forcing his way through, rushed forward to meet me. 

O’Malley, my brave fellow, delighted to shake your hand 
again. How much grown you are : twice the man I knew you ; 
and the arm, too, is it getting on well ?” 

Scarcely giving me a moment to reply, and still holding my hand 
tightly in his grasp, he introduced me on every side. 

“My young Irish friend. Sir Edward, the man of the Douro. 
My lord, allow me to present Lieutenant O’Malley, of the 
14th.” 

“ A very dashing thing that of yours, sir, at Ciudad Rodrigo.” 

“ A very senseless one, I fear, my lord.” 

“No, no, I don’t agree with you at all; even when no great 
results follow, the morale of an army benefits by acts of daring.” 

E 2 


54 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


A running fire of kind and civil speeches poured in on me from 
all quarters, and, amid all that crowd of bronzed and war-worn 
veterans, I felt myself the lion of the moment. Crawford, it ap- 
peared, had spoken most handsomely of my name, and I was thus 
made known to many of those whose own reputations were then 
extending over Europe. 

In this happy trance of excited pleasure I passed the morning. 
All the military chit-chat of the day around me, treated as an equal 
by the greatest and the most distinguished, I heard all the confi- 
dential opinions upon the campaign and its leaders ; and in that 
most entrancing of all flatteries — the easy tone of companionship 
of our elders and betters — forgot all my griefs, and half believed I 
was destined for great things. 

Fearing at length that I had prolonged my visit too far, I ap- 
proached Sir George to take my leave, when, drawing my arm 
within his, he retired towards one of the windows. 

A word, O’Malley, before you go. I’ve arranged a little plan 
for you : mind, I shall insist upon obedience. They’ll make some 
difficulty about your remaining here, so that I have appointed you 
one of our extra aids-de-camp : that will free you from all trouble, 
and I shall not be very exacting in my demands upon you. You 
must, ho^yever, commence your duties to-day, and, as we dine at 
seven precisely, I shall expect you. I am aware of your wish to 
stay in Lisbon, my boy, and, if all I hear be true, congratulate you 
sincerely; but more of this another time, and so, good-bye.” So 
saying, he shook my hand once more, warmly, and, witho^it well 
feeling how or why, I found myself in the street. 

The last few words Sir George had spoken threw a gloom over 
all my thoughts. I saw at once that the report Power had al- 
luded to, had gained currency at Lisbon. Sir George believed 
it ; doubtless, Lucy, too ; and, forgetting in an instant all the 
emulative ardour that so lately stirred my heart, I took my 
path beside the river, and sauntered slowly along, lost in my 
reflections. 

I had walked for above an hour, before paying any attention to 
the path I followed. Mechanically, as it were, retreating from the 
noise and tumult of the city, I wandered towards the country. 
My thoughts fixed but upon one theme, I had neither ears nor 
eyes for aught around me ; the great difficulty of my present posi- 
tion now appearing to me in this light~my attachment to Lucy 
Dashwood, unrequited and unreturned as I felt it, did not permit 
of my rebutting any report which might have reached her con- 
cerning Donna Inez. I had no right, no claim to suppose her suf- 
ficiently interested about me to listen to such an explanation, had I 
even the opportunity to make it. One thing was thus clear to me, 
—all my hopes had ended in that quarter; and, as this conclusion 
sunk into my mind, a species of dogged resolution to brave my 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


55 


fortune crept upon me which only waited the first moment of my 
meeting her to overthrow and destroy forever. 

Meanwhile I walked on; now rapidly, as some momentary 
rush of passionate excitement ; now slowly, as some depressing 
and gloomy notion succeeded; when suddenly my path was 
arrested by a long file of bullock cars which blocked up the 
way. Some chance squabble had arisen among the drivers, 
and, to avoid the crowd and collision, I turned into a gate- 
way which opened beside me, and soon found myself in a 
lawn handsomely planted, and adorned with flowering shrubs, 
and ornamental trees. 

In the half-dreamy state my musings had brought me to, I 
struggled to recollect why the aspect of the place did not seem 
altogether new. My thoughts were, however, far away ; now 
blending some memory of my distant home with scenes of battle 
and bloodshed, or resting upon my first interview with her whose 
chance word, carelessly and lightly spoken, had written the story 
of my life. From this revery I was rudely awakened by a rus- 
tling noise in the trees behind me, and, before 1 could turn my 
head, the two forepaws of a large stag-hound were planted upon 
my shoulders, while the open mouth and panting tongue were 
close beside my face. My day-dream was dispelled quick as 
lightning : it was Juan himself, the favourite dog of the sen- 
hora, who gave me this rude welcome, and who now, by a 
thousand wild gestures and bounding caresses, seemed to do 
the honours of his house. There was something so like home 
in these joyful greetings, that I yielded myself at once his 
prisoner, and followed, or rather was accompanied by him to- 
wards the villa. 

Of course, sooner or later, I should have called upon my kind 
friends; then why not now, when chance had already brought me 
so near. Besides, if I held to my resolution, which I meant to do 
— of retiring to some quiet and sequestered cottage till my health 
was restored — the opportunity might not readily present itself 
again. This line of argument perfectly satisfied my reason, while 
a strong feeling of something like curiosity piqued me to proceed, 
and, before many minutes elapsed, I reached the house. The 
door, as usual, lay wide open, and the ample hall, furnished like a 
sitting-room, had its customary litter of books, music, and flowers 
scattered upon the tables. My friend Juan, however, suffered me 
not to linger here, but, rushing furiously at a door before me, began 
a vigorous attack for admittance. 

As 1 knew this to be the drawing-room, I opened the door and 
walked in, but no one was to be seen ; a half-open book lay upon 
an ottoman, and a fan, which I recognised as an old acquaintance, 
was beside it, but the owner was absent. 

I sat down, resolved to wait patiently for her coming, without 
any announcement of my being there. I was not sorry indeed to 


56 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


have some moments to collect my thoughts and restote my erring 
faculties to something like order. 

As I looked about the room, it seemed as if I had been there but 
yesterday : the folding-doors lay open to the garden, just as I had 
seen them last ; and, save that the flowers seemed fewer, and those 
which remained, of a darker and more sombre tint, all seemed 
unchanged : there lay the guitar, to whose thrilling cords my heart 
had bounded ; there, the drawing over which I had bent in admir- 
ing pleasure, suggesting some tints of light or shadow, as the fairy 
fingers traced them ; every chair was known to me, and I greeted 
them as things 1 cared for. 

While thus I scanned each object around me, I was struck by a 
little china vase, which, unlike its other brethren, contained a 
bouquet of dead and faded flowers ; the blood rushed to my cheek; 
I started up ; it was one I had myself presented to her the day 
before we parted. It was in that same vase I placed it ; the very 
table, too, stood in the same position beside that narrow window. 
What a rush of thoughts came pouring on me ! and, 0 ! shall I 
confess it ? how deeply did such a mute testimony of remembrance 
speak to my heart, at the moment that I felt myself unloved and 
uncared for by another ! I walked hurriedly up and down ; a 
maze of conflicting resolves combating in my mind, while one 
thought ever recurred — “Would that I had not come there and 
yet, after all, it may mean nothing ; some piece of passing coquet- 
ry, which she will be the very first to laugh at. I remember how 
she spoke of poor Howard ; what folly to take it otherwise ; “Be 
it so then,^’ said I, half aloud ; and now for my part of the game : 
and with this I took from my helmet the light blue scarf she had 
given me the morning we parted, and, throwing it over my 
shoulder, prepared to perform my part in what I had fully per- 
suaded myself to be a comedy. The time, however, passed on, 
and she came not ; a thousand high-flown Spanish phrases had 
time to be conned over again and again by me, and I had abun- 
dant leisure to enact my coming part ; but still the curtain did not 
rise as the day was wearing. I resolved at least to write a few 
lines, expressive of my regret at not meeting her, and promising 
myself an early opportunity of paying my respects under more 
fortunate circumstances. I sat down accordingly, and, drawing 
the paper towards me, began, in a mixture of French and Portu- 
guese, as it happened, to indite my billet. 

“ Senhora Inez” — no — “ma ch^re Mademoiselle Inez” — con- 
found it, that’s too intimate ; well, here goes— “ Monsieur O’Mal- 
ley present ses respects”— that will never do; and then, after 
twenty other abortive attempts, I began thoughtlessly sketching 
heads upon the paper, and scribbling with wonderful facility in 
fifty different ways,— “ Ma charmante amie,— ma plus ch^re Inez,” 
&c., and in this most useful and profitable occupation did I pass 
another half-hour. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


57 


How long I should have persisted in such an employment it is 
difficult to say, had not an incident intervened, which suddenly, but 
most effectually put an end to it. As the circumstance is, however, 
one which, however little striking in itself, had the greatest and 
most lasting influence upon my future career, I shall, perhaps, be 
excused in devoting another chapter to its recital. 


VoL. II.— 8 


5S 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


CHAPTER X. 

A PLEASANT PREDICAMENT. 

As I sat vainly endeavouring to fix upon some suitable and 
appropriate epithet, by which to commence my note, my back was 
turned towards the door of the garden, and so occupied was I in 
my meditations that, even had any one entered at the time, in all 
probability I should not have perceived it. At length, however, I 
was aroused from my study by a burst of laughter, whose girlish 
joyousness was not quite new to me. I knew it well; it was the 
senhora herself, and the next moment I heard her voice. 

“I tell you Pm quite certain I saw his face in the mirror as 1 
passed. 0! how delightful — and you’ll be charmed with him; so, 
mind, you must not steal him from me ; I shall never forgive you 
if you do ; and look, only look, he has got the blue scarf I gave 
him when he marched to the Douro.” 

While I perceived that I was myself seen, I could see nothing of 
the speaker, and, wishing to hear something further, appeared 
more than ever occupied in the writing before me. 

What her companion replied, I could not, however, catch, but 
only guess at its import, by the senhora’s answer. 

done ! — I really am very fond of him; but, never fear, I 
shall be as stately as a queen. You shall see how meekly he will 
kiss my hand, and with what unbending reserve Pll receive 
him.” 

Indeed,” thought I, “ mayhap, Pll mar your plot a little ; but 
let us listen.” 

Again her friend spoke, but too low to be heard. 

“ It is so provoking,” continued Inez ; I never can remember 
names, and his was something too absurd; but, never mind, I shall 
make him a grandee of Portugal. Well, but come along, I long to 
present him to you.” 

Here a gentle struggle seemed to ensue; for I heard the senhora 
coaxingly entreat her, while her companion steadily resisted. 

know very well you , think I shall be so silly, and perhaps 
wrong ; eh, is it not so ? but you’re quite mistaken. You’ll be 
surprised at my cold and dignified manner. I shall draw myself 
proudly up, thus, and, courtesying deeply, say, ^Monsieur, J’ai 
I’honneur de vous salfier.’ ” 


THE IllISH DRAGOON. 


59 


A laugh twice as mirthful as before, interrupted her account of 
herself, while I could hear the tones of her friend, evidently in ex- 
postulation. 

‘‘Well, then, to be sure, you are provoking, but you really promise 
to follow me. Be it so ; then give me that moss rose. How you 
have fluttered me : now for it.’^ 

_So saying, 1 heard her foot upon the gravel, and the next instant 
upon the marble step of the door. There is something in expecta- 
tion that sets the heart beating, and mine throbbed against my 
side. I waited, however, till she entered, before lifting my head, 
and then, springing suddenly up, with one bound clasped her in 
my arms, and pressing my lips upon her roseate cheek, said — 

charmante amie To disengage herself from me, and 
to spring suddenly back, was her first efibrt; to burst into an 
immoderate fit of laughing, her second ; her cheek was, however, 
covered with a deep blush, and I already repented that my malice 
had gone so far. 

“Pardon, mademoiselle,’’ said I, in affected innocence, “if I 
have so far forgotten myself as to assume a habit of my own 
country to a stranger.” 

A half-angry toss of the head was her only reply, and, turning 
towards the garden, she called to her friend, 

“ Come here, dearest, and instruct my ignorance upon your 
national custom ; but first let me present to you, — I never knew 
his name, — the Chevalier de , What is it ? 

The glass door opened as she spoke ; a tall and graceful figure 
entered, and, turning suddenly round, showed me the features 
of Lucy Dashwood. We both stood opposite each other, each 
mute with amazement. Afy feelings let me not attempt to 
convey ; shame, for the first moment stronger than aught else, 
sent the blood rushing to my face and temples, and the next I 
was cold and pale as death. As for her, I cannot guess at what 
passed in her mind. She courtesied deeply to me, and with a 
half-smile of scarce recognition passed by me, and walked to- 
wards a window. 

“ Comment vous etes, aimahle said the lively Portuguese, 
who comprehended little of this dumb show,; “ here have I been 
flattering myself what friends you’d be the very moment you 
meet, and now you’ll not even look at each other.” 

What was to be done ? The situation was every instant grow- 
ing more and more embarrassing; nothing but downright effron- 
tery could get through with it now ; and never did a man’s heart 
more fail him than did mine at this conjuncture. I made the effort, 
however, and stammered out certain unmeaning common-places. 
Inez replied, and I felt myself conversing with the headlong reck- 
lessness of one marching to a scaffold, a coward’s fear at his heart, 
while he essayed to seem careless and indifferent. 


60 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


Anxious to reach what I esteemed safe ground, I gladly ad- 
verted to the campaign ; and, at last, hurrfed on by the impulse 
to cover my embarrassment, was describing some skirmish with 
a French outport. Without intending, I had succeeded in excit- 
ing the senhora’s interest, and she listened with sparkling eye 
and parted lips to the description of a sweeping charge in which 
a square was broken, and several prisoners carried off. Warming 
with the eager avidity of her attention, I grew myself more ex- 
cited, when just when my narrative had reached its climax. Miss 
Dashwood walked gently towards the bell, rang it, and ordered 
her carriage ; the tone of perfect nonchalance of the whole pro- 
ceeding struck me dumb. I faltered, stammered, hesitated, and 
was silent. Donna Inez turned from one to the other of us with 
a look of unfeigned astonishment, and 1 heard her mutter to her- 
self something like a reflection upon “ national eccentricities.’’ 
Happily, however, her attention was now exclusively turned 
tovfards her friend, and, while assisting her to shawl, and extort- 
ing innumerable promises of an early visit, I got a momentary 
reprieve ; the carriage drew up also, and, as the gravel flew right 
and left beneath the horses’ feet, the very noise and bustle relieved 
me. 

^^Jidios /” then said Inez, as she kissed her for the last time, 
while she motioned to me to escort her to her carriage. I ad- 
vanced — stopped — ^made another step forward, and again grew 
irresolute ; but Miss Dashwood speedily terminated the difficulty ; 
for, making me a formal courtesy, she declined my scarce proffered 
attention, and left the room. 

As she did so, I perceived that, on passing the table, her eyes 
fell upon the paper I had been scribbling over so long, and I 
thought that for an instant an expression of ineffable scorn seem- 
ed to pass across her features, save which — and perhaps even in 
this I was mistaken — her manner was perfectly calm, easy, and 
indifferent. 

Scarce had the carriage rolled from the door, when the senhora, 
throwing herself upon a chair, clapped her hands in childish 
ecstasy, while she fell into a fit of laughing that I thought would 
never have an end. Such a scene,” cried she, I would not 
have lost it for the world : what cordialit}^ ! what empressement 
to form acquaintance ! I shall never forget it. Monsieur le Che- 
valier ; your national customs seem to run sadly in extremes. 
One would have thought you deadly enemies, and, poor me ! after 
a thousand delightful plans about you both.” 

As she ran on thus, scarce able to control her mirth at each 
sentence, I walked the room with impatient strides, now resolving 
to hasten after the carriage, stop it, explain in a few words how 
all had happened, and then fly from her forever; then the remem- 
brance of her cold impassive look crossed me, and I thought that 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


61 


one bold leap into the Tagus might be the shortest and easiest 
solution to all my miseries ; perfect abasement, thorough self- 
contempt had broken all my courage, and I could have cried like 
a child. What I said, or how I comported myself after, I know 
not ; but my first consciousness came to me, as I felt myself run- 
ning at the top of my speed far upon the road towards Lisbon. 


F 


63 


CHARLES o’mALLET. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE DINNER. 

It may easily be imagined that I had little inclination to 
keep my promise of dining that day with Sir George Dashwood. 
However, there was nothing else for it: the die. was cast; my 
prospects, as regarded Lucy, were ruined forever. We were 
not, we never could be any thing to each other ; and as for me, 
the sooner I braved my altered fortunes the better; and, after 
all, why should I call them altered; she evidently never had 
cared for me ; and, even supposing that my fervent declaration 
of attachment had interested her, the apparent duplicity and false- 
ness of my late conduct could only fall the more heavily upon me. 

I endeavoured to philosophize myself into calmness and indif- 
ference. One by one I exhausted every argument for my defence, 
which, however ingeniously put forward, brought no comfort to 
my own conscience. I pleaded the unerring devotion of my 
heart ; the uprightness of my motives ; and when called on for the 
proofs, alas ! except the blue scarf I wore in memory of another, 
and my absurd conduct at the villa, I had none. From the current 
gossip of Lisbon, down to my own disgraceful folly, all — all was 
against me. 

Honesty of intention, rectitude of purpose, may be, doubtless 
they are, admirable supports to a rightly constituted mind ; but 
even then they must come supported by such claims to probability 
as make the injured man feel he has not lost the sympathy of all 
his fellows. Now, I had none of these, had even my temperament, 
broken by sickness, and harassed by unlucky conjectures, per- 
mitted my appreciating them. 

I endeavoured to call my wounded pride to my aid, and thought 
over the glance of haughty disdain she gave me as she passed on 
to her carriage ; but even this turned agaipst me, and a humiliating 
sense of my own degraded position sunk deeply into my heart. 

This impression at least,’’ thought I, must be effaced. I cannot 
permit her to believe ” 

His excellency is waiting dinner, sir,” said a lacquey, intro- 
ducing a finely powdered head gently within the door. I looked 
at my watch ; it was eight o’clock ; so, snatching my sabre and 
shocked at my delay, I hastily followed the servant down stairs, 
and thus at once cut short my deliberations. 

The man must be but little observant, or deeply sunk in his own 
reveries, who, arriving half an hour too late for dinner, fails to 


TIfE IRISH DRAGOON. 


63 


detect in the faces of the assembled and expecting guests^ a very- 
palpable expression of discontent and displeasure. It is truly a 
moment of awkwardness, and one in which few are found to 
manage with success ; the blushing, hesitating, blundering apology 
of the absent man, is scarcely better than the ill-affected surprise 
of the more practised offender. The bashfulnes of the one is as 
distasteful as the cool impertinence of the other : both are so 
thoroughly out of place, for we are thinking of neither; our 
thoughts are wandering to cold soups and rechauffeed pates, and 
we neither care for, nor estimate the cause, but satisfy our spleen 
by cursing the offender. 

Happily for me, I was clad in a triple insensibility to such feel- 
ings, and with an air of most perfect unconstraint and composure, 
walked into a drawing-room where about twenty persons were 
busily discussing what peculiar amiability in my character could 
compensate for my present conduct. 

At last, O’Malley, at last !” said Sir George. Why, my dear 
boy, how very late you are!” 

I muttered something about a long walk ; distance from Lis- 
bon, &c. 

Ah, that was it. I was right, you see !” said an old lady in a 
spangled turban, as she whispered something to her friend beside 
her, who appeared excessively shocked at the information con- 
veyed. While a fat, round-faced little general, after eyeing me 
steadily through his glass, expressed a sub voce wish that I was 
upon his staff. I felt my cheek reddening at the moment, and 
stared around me like one whose trials were becoming downright 
insufferable, when, happily, dinner was announced, and terminated 
my embarrassment. 

As the party filed past, I perceived that Miss Dashwood was 
not amongst them, and with a heart relieved for the moment by 
the circumstance, and inventing a hundred conjectures to account 
for it, I followed, with the aides-de-camp and the staff, to the dinner- 
room. 

The temperament is very Irish, I believe, which renders a man 
so elastic, that from the extreme of depression to the very climax 
of high spirits, there is but one spring. To this I myself plead 
guilty, and thus scarcely was I freed from the embarrassment 
which a meeting with Lucy Dashwood must have caused, when 
my heart bounded with lightness. 

When the ladies withdrew, the events of the campaign became 
the subject of conversation, and upon these, very much to my 
astonishment, I found myself consulted as an authority. The 
Douro, from some fortunate circumstance, had given me a reputa- 
tion I never dreamed of, and I heard my opinions quoted upon 
topics of which my standing as an officer, and my rank in the 
service could not imply a very extended observation. Power was 
absent on duty ; and, happily for my supremacy, the company con- 


64 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


sisted entirely of generals in the commissariat, or new arrivals from 
England, all of whom knew still less than myself. 

What will not iced champagne and flattery do? Singly, they 
are strong impulses ; combined, their power is irresistible. I now 
heard for the first time that our great leader had been elevated to 
the peerage, by the title of Lord Wellington ; and I sincerely 
believe, however now I may smile at the confession, that at the 
moment I felt more elation at the circumstance than he did. The 
glorious sensation of being in any way, no matter how remotely, 
linked with the career of those whose path is a high one, and whose 
destinies are cast for great events, thrilled through me ; and in all 
the warmth of my admiration and pride for our great captain, a 
secret pleasure stirred within me as I whispered to myself, “ and I, 
too, am a soldier 

I fear me, that very little adulation is sufficient to turn the head 
of a young man of eighteen; and if I yielded to the ‘‘pleasant in- 
cense,” let my apology be, that I was not used to it ; and, lastly, 
let me avow, if I did get tipsy — I liked the liquor. And why not ? 
It is the only tipple I know of that leaves no headache the next 
morning, to punish you for the glories of the past night. It may, 
like all other strong potations, it is true, induce you to make a fool 
of yourself when under its influence ; but, like the nitrous oxide 
gas, its effects are passing, and as the pleasure is an ecstasy for the 
time, and your constitution none the worse when it is over, I really 
see no harm in it. 

Then, the benefits are manifest ; for while he who gives becomes 
never the poorer for his benevolence, the receiver is made rich in- 
deed. It matters little that some dear kind friend is ready with his 
bitter draught, to remedy what he is pleased to call its unwhole- 
some sweetness; you betake yourself with only the more pleasure 
to the “blessed elixir,” whose fascinations neither the poverty of 
your pocket, nor the penury of your brain can withstand, and by 
the magic of whose spell you are great and gifted. Vive la baga- 
telle ! sayeth the Frenchman. Long live flattery, say I, come from 
what quarter it will : the only wealth of the poor man, — the only 
reward of the unknown one ; the arm that supports us in failure, — 
the hand that crowns us in success ; the comforter in our affliction, 
— the gay companion in our hours of pleasure ; the lullaby of the 
infant, — the staff of old age ; the secret treasure we lock up in our 
own hearts, and which ever grows greater as we count it over. 
Let me not be told that the coin is fictitious, and the gold not 
genuine ; its clink is as musical to the ear as though it bore the last 
impression of the mint, and Pm not the man to cast an aspersion 
upon its value. 

This little digression, however seemingly out of place, may serve 
to illustrate what it might be difficult to convey in other words, — 
namely, that if Charles O’Malley became in his own estimation 
a very considerable personage that day at dinner, the fault lay not 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


65 


entirely with himself, but with his friends, who told him he was such. 
In fact, my good reader, I was the lion of the party ; the man who 
saved Laborde ; who charged through a brigade of guns ; who per- 
formed feats which newspapers quoted, though he never heard of 
them himself. At no time is a man so successful in society as 
when his reputation chaperones him, and it needs but little conver- 
sational eloquence to talk well, if you have but a willing and 
ready auditory. Of mine, I could certainly not complain ; and as, 
drinking deeply, I poured forth a whole tide of campaigning recital, 
I saw the old colonels of recruiting districts exchanging looks of 
wonder and admiration with officers of the ordnance, while Sir 
George himself, evidently pleased at my debut, went back to an 
early period of our acquaintance, and related the rescue of his 
daughter in Galway. 

In an instant the whole current of my thoughts was changed. 
My first meeting with Lucy, my boyhood’s dream of ambition, 
my plighted faith, my thought of our last parting in Dublin, when 
in a moment of excited madness I told my tale of love. I remem- 
bered her downcast look, as, her cheek now flushing, now growing 
pale, she trembled while I spoke. I thought of her, as, in the crash 
of battle, her image flashed across my brain, and made me feel a 
rush of chivalrous enthusiasm to win her heart by ‘‘doughty 
deeds.” 

I forgot all around and about me. My head reeled, the winej. 
the excitement, my long previous illness, all pressed upon me ; and 
as my temples throbbed loudly and painfully, a chaotic rush of dis- 
cordant, ill-connected ideas flitted across my mind. There seemed 
some stir and confusion in the room, but why or wherefore I could 
not think, nor could I recall my scattered senses, till Sir George 
Dashwood’s voice roused me once again to consciousness. 

“ We are going to have some coffee, O’Malley. Miss Dashwood 
expects us in the drawing-room. You have not seen her yet?” 

I know not my reply ; but he continued, — 

“She has some letters for you, I think.” 

I muttered something, and suffered him to pass on ; no sooner 
had he done so, however, than I turned towards the door, and 
rushed into the street. The cold night air suddenly recalled me to 
myself, and I stood for a moment, endeavouring to collect myself ; 
as I did so, a servant stopped, and, saluting me, presented me with 
a letter. 'For a second, a cold chill came over me : I knew not what 
fear beset me. The letter I at last remembered must be that one. 
alluded to by Sir George, so I took it in silence and walked on. 


VoL. II.— 9 


CHARLES O^MALLEY, 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE LETTER. 

As I hurried to my quarters, I made a hundred guesses from 
whom the letter could have come ; a kind of presentiment told me 
that it bore, in some measure, upon the present crisis of my life, 
and I burned with anxiety to read it. 

No sooner had I reached the light, than all my hopes on this 
head vanished ; the envelope bore the well-known name of my old 
college chum, Frank Webber, and none could, at the moment, have 
more completely dispelled all chance of interesting me. I threw it 
from me with disappointment, and sat moodily down to brood over 
my fate. 

At length, however, and almost without knowing it, I drew the 
lamp towards me, and broke the seal. The reader being already 
acquainted with my amiable friend, there is the less indiscretion in 
communicating the contents, which ran thus : — 

“Trinity College, Dublin, No. 2, 
Oct. 5, 1810. 

“My dear O’Malley, 

“ Nothing short of your death and burial, with, or without mili- 
tary honours, can possibly excuse your very disgraceful neglect 
of your old friends here. Nesbitt has never heard of you, neither 
has Smith. Ottley swears never to have seen your handwriting, 
save on the back of a protested bill. You have totally forgotten 
mej and the dean informs me that you have never condescended a 
single line to him; which latter inquiry on my part nearly cost me 
a rustication. 

“A hundred conjectures to account for your silence — a new 
feature in you since you were here — are afloat. Some assert that 
your soldiering has turned your head, and that you are above cor- 
responding with civilians. Your friends, however, who know you 
better, and value your worth, think otherwise ; aiid having seen a 
paragraph about one something O’Malley being tried by court- 
martial for stealing a goose, and maltreating the woman that owned 
it, ascribe your not writing to other motives. Do, in any case, 
relieve our minds ; say, is it yourself, or only a relative that’s 
mentioned ? 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


67 


“ Herbert came over from London with a long story about your 
doing wonderful things — capturing cannon and general officers 
by scores, but devil a word of it is extant; and if you have 
really committed these acts, they have ‘ misused the king’s press 
damnably:’ for, neither in the Times nor the Post are you heard 
of. Answer this point ; and say also if you have got promotion ; 
for what precise sign you are algebraically expressed by at this 
writing, may do Fitzgerald for a fellowship question. As for us, 
we are jogging along, semper eadem — that is, worse and worse. 
Dear Cecil Cavendish, our gifted friend, slight of limb and soft of 
voice, has been rusticated for immersing four bricklayers in that 
green receptacle of stagnant water and duckweed, yclept the ‘Ha- 
ha.’ Roper, equally unlucky, has taken to reading for honours, 
and obtained a medal, I fancy: at least, his friends shy him, and it 
must be something of that kind. Belson — poor Belson (fortunately 
for him he was born in the nineteenth, not the sixteenth century, 
or he’d be most likely ornamenting a pile of fagots) — ^ventured 
upon some stray excursions into the Hebrew verbs — the Professor 
himself never having transgressed beyond the declensions; and the 
consequence is, he is in disgrace among the seniors. And as for 
me, a heavy charge hangs over my devoted head even while I 
write. The senior lecturer, it appears, has been for some time 
past instituting some very singular researches into the original 
state of our goodly college at its founding. Plans and specifica- 
tions, showing its extent and magnificence, have been continually 
before the board for the last month; and in such repute have been a 
smashed door-sill or an old arch, that freshmen have now abandoned 
conic sections for crowbars, and instead of the Principia, have 
taken up the pickaxe. You know, my dear fellow, with what 
enthusiasm I enter into any scheme for the aggrandizement of our 
Alma Mater, so I need not tell you how ardently I adventured into 
the career now opened to me. My time was completely devoted to 
the matter: neither means nor health did I spare, and in my search 
for antiquarian lore, I have actually undermined the old wall of 
the fellows’ garden, and am each morning in expectation of hear- 
ing that the big bell near the commons hall has descended from its 
lofty and most noisy eminence, and is snugly reposing in the mud. 
Meanwhile, accident put me in possession of a most singular 
and remarkable discovery. Our chambers — I call them ours, for 
old association sake — are, you may remember, in the old square. 
Well, I have been fortunate enough, within the very precincts of 
my own dwelling, to contribute a very wonderful fact to the his- 
tory of the university — alone — unassisted — unaided — I laboured 
at my discovery. Few can estimate the pleasure I felt — the fame 
and reputation I anticipated. I drew up a little memoir for the 
board, most respectfully and civilly worded, having for title the 
following : — 


68 


CHARLES O^MALLET, 


Account 

Of a remarkable Subterranean Passage, lately discovered in the Old Building 
of Trinity College, Dublin. 

With Remarks upon its Extent, Antiquity, and Probable Use. 

By F. Webber, Senior Freshman.’ 

My dear O^Malley, Fll not dwell upon the pride I felt in my 
new character of antiquarian. It is enough to state, that my very 
remarkable tract was well considered and received,. and a commis- 
sion appointed to investigate the discovery, consisting of the vice- 
provost, the senior lecturer, old Woodhouse, the sub-dean, and a 
few more. 

On Tuesday last they came accordingly, in full academic cos- 
tume. I, being habited most accurately in the like manner, and 
conducting them with all form into my bed-room, where a large 
screen concealed from view the entrance to the tunnel alluded 
to. Assuming a very John Kembleish attitude, I struck this down 
with one hand, pointing with the other to the wall, as I exclaimed, 
‘ There ! look there !’ 

“ I need only quote Barrett’s exclamation to enlighten yon upon 
my discovery, as, drawing in his breath with a strong effort, he 
burst out : 

‘ May the devil admire me, but it’s a rat-hole.’ 

I fear, Charley, he’s right ; and, what’s more, that the board 
will think so, for this moment a very warm discussion is going on 
among that amiable and learned body, whether I shall any longer 
remain an ornament to the university. In fact, the terror with which 
they fled from my chambers' overturning each other in the passage, 
seemed to imply that they thought me mad ; and I do believe my 
voice, look, and attitude would not have disgraced a blue cotton 
dressing-gown and a cell in ^ Swift’s.’ Be this as it may, few 
men have done more for college than I have. The sun never 
stood still for Joshua with more resolution than I have rested 
in my career of freshman ; and if I have contributed little to the 
fame, I have done much for the funds of the university; and 
when they come to compute the various sums I have paid in, for 
fines, penalties, and what they call properly ‘ impositions,’ if they 
don’t place a portrait of me in the examination-hall, between 
Archbishop Ussher and Flood, then do I say there is no gratitude 
in mankind; not to mention the impulse I have given to the 
various artisans whose business it is to repair lamps, windows, 
chimneys, iron railings, and watchmen, all of which I have 
devoted myself to, with an enthusiasm for political economy well 
known, and registered in the College-street police-office. 

“After all, Charley, I miss you greatly. Your second in a 
ballad is not to be replaced; besides, Carlisle bridge has got 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


69 


low ; medical students and young attorneys affect minstrelsy, 
and actually frequent the haunts sacred to our muse. 

“ Dublin is, upon the whole, I think, worse; though one scarcely 
ever gets tired laughing at the small celebrities 

Master Frank gets here indiscreet, so I shall skip. * ^ 

* * 

‘‘ And so the Dashwoods are going too ; this will make mine 
a pitiable condition, for I really did begin to feel tender in that 
quarter. You may have heard she refused me ; this, however, 
is not correct, though I have little doubt it might have been — had 
I asked her. 

“ Hammersly has, you know, got his congee. I wonder how 
the poor fellow took it, when Power gave him back his letters and 
his picture. How you are to be treated remains to be seen : in 
any case you certainly stand first favourite.’’ 

I laid down the letter at this passage, unable to read further. 
Here, then, was the solution of the whole chaos of mystery ; 
here’s the full explanation of what had puzzled my aching brain 
for many a night long. These were the very letters I had myself 
delivered into Hammersly’s hands ; this the picture he had trod- 
den to dust beneath his heel the morning of our meeting. I now 
felt the reason of his taunting allusion to my success,” his cut- 
ting sarcasm, his intemperate passion. A flood of light poured at 
once across all the dark passages of my history — and Lucy, too — 
dare I think of her ? A rapid thought shot through my brain. 
What, if she had really cared for me ! What, if for me she had 
rejected another’s love ! What, if, trusting to my faith, my 
pledged and sworn faith, she had given me her heart ! 0, the 

bitter agony of that thought ! to think that all my hopes were 
shipwrecked, with the very land in sight. 

I sprung to my feet with some sudden impulse, but as I did so, 
the blood rushed madly to my face and temples, which beat vio- 
lently; a parched and swollen feeling came about ,my throat; 
I endeavoured to open my collar, and undo my stock, but my 
disabled arm prevented me. I tried to call my servant, but my 
utterance was thick, and my words would not come ; a frightful 
suspicion crossed me that my reason was tottering. I made to- 
wards the door, but as I did so, the objects around me became 
confused and mingled, my limbs trembled, and I fell heavily upon 
the floor ; a pang of dreadful pain shot through me as I fell — my 
arm was rebroken; after this, I knew no more; all the accu- 
mulated excitement of the evening bore down with one fell 
swoop upoti my brain : — ere day broke I was delirious. 

I have a vague and indistinct remembrance of hurried and anx- 


70 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


ions faces around my bed, of whispered words, and sorrowful 
looks; but my own thoughts careered over the bold hills of the far 
west as I trode them in my boyhood, free and high of heart, or re- 
curred to the din and crash of the battle-field, with the mad bound- 
ing of my war-horse, and the loud clang of the trumpet ; perhaps 
the acute pain of my swollen and suffering arm, gave the character 
to my mental aberration ; for I have more than once observed 
among the wounded in battle, that even when torn and mangled 
by grape from a howitzer, their ravings have partaken of a high 
feature of enthusiasm, shouts of triumph, and exclamations of 
pleasure ; even songs have I heard — but never once the low mut- 
tering of despair, and- the scarce stifled cry of sorrow and afflic- 
tion. 

Such were the few gleams of consciousness which visited me, 
and even to such as these I became soon insensible. 

Few like to chronicle, fewer still to read, the sad history of a sick- 
bed. Of mine, I know but little. The throbbing pulses of the err- 
ing brain, the wild fancies of lunacy, take no note of time. There 
is no past nor future — a dreadful present, full of its hurried and 
confused impressions, is all that the mind beholds ; and even when 
some gleams of returning reason flash upon the mad confusion of 
the brain, they came like sunbeams through a cloud, dimmed, dark- 
ened, and perverted. 

It is the restless activity of the mind in fever, that constitutes its 
most painful anguish ; the fast-flitting thoughts, that rush ever on- 
wards, crowding sensation on sensation, an endless train of exciting 
images, without purpose or repose ; or even worse, the straining 
effort to pursue some vague and shadowy conception, which 
evades us ever as we follow, but which mingles with all around 
and about us — haunting us at midnight as in the noontime. 

Of this nature was a vision which came constantly before me, 
till at length, by its very recurrence, it had assumed a kind of real 
and palpable existence ; and, as I watched it, my heart thrilled 
with the high ardour of enthusiasm and delight, or sank into the 
dark abyss of sorrow and despair. The dawning of morning, the 
daylight sinking, brought no other image to my aching sight, and 
of this alone, of all the impressions of the period, has my mind 
retained any consciousness. 

Methought I stood within an old and venerable cathedral, where 
the dim, yellow light fell with a rich but solemn glow upon the 
fretted capitals, or the grotesque tracings of the oaken cartings, 
lighting up the faded gildings of the stately monuments, and tint- 
ing the varied hues of time-worn banners. The mellow notes of a 
deep organ filled the air, and seemed to attune the sense to all the 
awe and reverence of the place, where the very foot-fall, magni- 
fied by its many echoes, seemed half a profanation. I stood before 
an altar; beside me, a young and lovely girl, whose bright brown 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


71 


tresses waved in loose masses upon a neck of snowy whiteness ; 
her hand, cold and pale, rested within my own ; we knelt together, 
not in prayer, but a feeling of deep reverence stole over my heart, 
as she repeated some few half-uttered words after me ; I knew 
that she was mine. 0 ! the ecstasy of that moment, as, springing 
to my feet, I darted forward to press her to my heart, when sud- 
denly an arm was interposed between us, while a low but solemn 
voice rung in my ears, “ Stir not, for thou art false and traitorous ; 
thy vow, a perjury ; and thy heart, a lie Slowly and silently 
the fair form of my loved Lucy, for it was hex, receded from my 
sight. One look, one last look of sorrow — it was scarce reproach — 
fell upon me, and I sunk back upon the cold pavement, broken- 
hearted and forsaken. 

This dream came with daybreak, and with the calm repose of 
evening; the still hours of the waking night brought no other 
image to my eyes, and when its sad influence had spread a gloom 
and desolation over my wounded heart, a secret hope crept over 
me, that again the bright moment of happiness would return, and 
once more beside that ancient altar Pd kneel beside my bride, and 
call her mine. 




***»*»*» 






For the rest, my memory retains but little ; the kind looks which 
came around my bedside brought but a brief pleasure, for in their 
affectionate beaming I could read the gloomy prestige of my fate. 
The hurried but cautious step, the whispered sentences, the averted 
gaze of those who sorrowed for me, sunk far deeper into my heart 
than my friends then thought of. Little do they think, who minis- 
ter to the sick or dying, how each passing word, each flitting glance, 
is noted, and how the pale and stilly figure, which lies all but life- 
less before them, counts over the hours he has to live, by the smiles 
or tears around him. 

Hours, days, weeks, rolled over, and still my fate hung in the 
balance ; and while, in the wild enthusiasm of my erring faculties, 
I wandered far in spirit from my bed of suffering and pain, some 
well remembered voice beside me would strike upon my ear, bring- 


72 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


ing me back, as if by magic, to all the realities of life, and invest- 
ing my almost unconscious state with all the hopes and fears about 
me. 

One by one, at length, these fancies fled from me, and to the 
delirium of fever succeeded the sad and helpless consciousness of 
illness, far, far more depressing ; for as the conviction of sense 
came back, the sorrowful aspect of a dreary future came with 
them. 






THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


7^ 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE VILLA. 

The gentle twilight of an autumnal evening, calm, serene, and 
mellow, was falling, as I opened my eyes to consciousness of life 
and being, and looked around me. I lay in a large and handsomely 
furnished apartment, in which the hand of taste was as evident in 
all the decorations, as the unsparing employment of wealth ; the 
silk draperies of my bed, the inlaid tables, the ormolu ornaments 
which glittered upon the chimney, were, one by one, so many 
puzzles to my erring senses, and I opened and shut my eyes again 
and again, and essayed, by every means in my power, to ascertain 
if they were not the visionary creations of a fevered mind. I 
stretched out my hands to feel the objects; and even while holding 
the freshly-plucked flowers in my grasp, I could scarce persuade 
myself that they were real. A thrill of pain at this instant, recalled 
me to other thoughts, and I turned my eyes upon my wounded 
arm, which, swollen and stiftened, lay motionless beside me. 
Gradually, my memory came back, and, to my weak faculties, 
some passages of my former life were presented, not collectedly, it 
is true, nor in any order, but scattered, isolated scenes. While 
such thoughts flew past, my ever , rising question to myself was, 
‘‘Where am I, now?^’ The vague feelings which illness leaves 
upon the mind, whispered to me of kind looks and soft voices; and 
I had a dreamy consciousness about me, of being watched, and 
cared for, but wherefore, ot by whom, I knew not, 

From a partly open door which led into a garden, a mild and 
balmy air fanned my temples, and soothed my heated brow ; and, 
as the light curtain waved to and fro with the breeze, the odour 
of the rose and the orange tree filled the apartment. 

There is something in the feeling of weakness which succeeds to 
long illness, of the most delicious and refined enjoyment. The 
spirit, emerging as it were, from the thraldom of its grosser prison, 
rises high and triumphant above the meaner thoughts and more 
petty ambitions of daily life. Purer feelings, more ennobling hopes 
succeed; and gleams of our childhood, mingling with our promises 
for the future, make up an ideal existence, in which the low pas- 
sions and cares of ordinary life enter not, or are forgotten. ’Tis 
then we learn to hold converse Avith ourselves ; ’tis then we ask, 
how has our manhood performed the promises of its youth ? or, 
have our ripened prospects borne out the pledges of our boyhood ? 
^Tis then, in the calm justice of our lonely hearts, we learn how 

VoL. II.— 10 G 


74 


CHARLES O'MALLEY. 


our failures are but another name for our faults, and that what we 
looked on as the vicissitudes of fortune, are but the fruits of our 
own vices. Alas! how short-lived are such intervafs. Like the 
fitful sunshine in the wintry sky, they throw one bright and joyous 
tint over the dark landscape; for a moment, the valley and the 
mountain top are bathed in a ruddy glow; the leafless tree and the 
dark moss seem to feel a touch of spring ; but the next instant it is 
past ; the lowering clouds and dark shadows intervene, and the cold 
blast, the moaning wind, and the dreary waste are once more 
before us. 

I endeavoured to recall the latest events of my career, but in 
vain ; the real and the visionary were inextricably mingled ; and 
the scenes of my campaigns were blended with hopes, and fears, 
and doubts, which had no existence, save in my dreams. My 
curiosity to know where I was, grew now my strongest feeling, 
and I raised myself with one arm, to look around me. In the 
room all was still and silent, but nothing seemed to intimate what 
I sought for. x\s I looked, however, the wind blew back the cur- 
tain which half concealed the sash door, and disclosed to me the 
figure of a man, seated at a table ; his back was towards me ; but 
his broad sombrero hat and brown mantle bespoke his nation; the 
light, blue curl of smoke, which wreathed gently upwards, and the 
ample display of long-necked, straw-wrapped flasks, also attested 
that he was enjoying himself with true peninsular gusto, having 
probably partaken of a long siesta. 

It was a perfect picture, in its way, of the indolent luxury of the 
South; the rich and perfumed flowers, half-closing to the night air, 
but sighing forth a perfumed ^^buonas noches,’’ as they betook 
themselves to rest ; the slender shadows of the tall shrubs, stretch- 
ing, motionless, across the walks ; the very attitude of the figure 
himself was in keeping, as, supported by easy chairs, he lounged 
at full length, raising his head ever and anon, as if to watch the 
wreath of eddying smoke, as it rose upwards from his cigar, and 
melted away in the distance. 

Yes,’’ thought I, as I looked for some time ; ‘^such is the very 
type of his nation. Surrounded by every luxury of climate, blessed 
with all that earth can offer of its best and fairest, and yet only 
using such gifts as mere sensual gratifications.” Starting with 
this theme, I wove a whole story for the unknown personage, 
whom, in my wandering fancy, I began by creating a grandee of 
Portugal, invested with rank, honours, and riches; but who, effemi- 
nated by the habits and usages of his country, had become the 
mere idle voluptuary, living a life of easy and inglorious indolence. 
My further musings were interrupted at this moment, for the indi- 
vidual to whom I had been so complimentary in my revery, slowly 
arose from his recumbent position, flung his loose mantle carelessly 
across his left shoulder, and, pushing open the sash door, entered 
my chamber. Directing his steps to a large mirror, he stood for 


THE< IRISH DRAGOON. 


75 


some minutes, contemplating himself, with what, from his attitude, 
I judged to be no small satisfaction. Though his back was still 
towards me, and the dim twilight of the room too uncertain to see 
much, yet I could perceive that he was evidently admiring him- 
self in the glass. Of this fact I had soon the most complete proof; 
for, as I looked, he slowly raised his broad-leafed Spanish hat, with 
an air of most imposing pretension, and bowed reverently to him- 
self. 

“ Come m, vostra senoria,"^’ said he. 

The whole gesture and style of this proceeding struck me as so 
ridiculous, that, in spite of all my efforts, I could scarcely repress a 
laugh. He turned quickly round, and approached the bed. The 
deep shadow of the sombrero darkened the upper part of his fea- 
tures, but I could distinguish a pair of fierce looking moustaches 
beneath, which curled upwards towards his eyes, while a stiff point 
beard stuck straight from his chin. Fearing lest my rude inter- 
ruption had been overheard, I was framing some polite speech in 
Portuguese, when he opened the dialogue, by asking, in that lan- 
guage, 'how I did. 

I replied, and was about to ask some questions relative to 
where, and in whose protection I then was, when my grave-look- 
ing friend, giving a pirouette upon one leg, sent his hat flying into 
the air, and cried out in a voice that not even my memory could 
fail to recogpise, — 

By the rock of Cashel, he’s cured ! he’s cured ! — the fever is 
over! 0, Master Charles dear ! 0, Master darling I and you ain’t 
mad, after all.” 

Mad ! no, faith ; but I shrewdly suspect you must be.” 

0, devil a taste ! but spake to me, honey — spake to me, 
acushla.” 

“ Where am I ? v/hose house is this ? What do you mean bv 
that disguise— that beard ” 

Whisht, Pll tell you all, av you have patience; but are you 
cured ? — tell me that first : sure they was going to cut the arm off 
you, till you got out of bed, and with your pistols sent them flying, 
one out (if the window and the other down stairs ; and I bate the 
little chap with the saw myself till he couldn’t know himself in 
the glass.” 

While Mike ran on at this rate, I never took my eyes from him, 
and it was all my poor faculties were equal to, to convince myself 
that the whole scene was not some vision of a wandering intellect. 
Gradually, however, the well-known features recalled me to myself, 
and, as my doubts gave way at length, I laughed long and heartily 
at the masquerade absurdity of his appearance. 

Mike, meanwhile, whose face expressed no small mistrust at the 
sincerity of my Fxiirth, having uncloaked himself, proceeded to lay 
aside his beard and moustaches, saying, as he did so— 

There now, darling ; there now Master dear ; don’t be grinning 


76 CHARLES o’MALLEY, 

that way ; Pll not be a Portigee any more, av you’ll be quiet and 
listen to reason.” 

‘‘ But, Mike, where am I ? Answer me that one question.” 
You’re at home, dear; where else would you be 
At home,” said I, with a start, as my eye ranged over the 
various articles of luxury and elegance around, so unlike the more 
simple and unpretending features of my uncle’s house; ‘^at 
home !” 

“ Ay, just so ; sure, is’nt it the same thing. It’s ould Don 
Emanuel that owns it ; and won’t it be your own — when you’re 
married to the lovely crayture herself?” 

I started up, and placing my hand upon my throbbing temple, 
asked myself if I were really awake ; or if some flight of fancy had 
not carried me away beyond the bounds of reason and sense. 
“ Go on, go on,” said I at length, in a hollow voice, anxious to gather 
from his words something like a clue to this mystery. “How did 
this happen ?” 

“ Av ye mean how you came here, faith, it was just this way : 
— After you got the fever, and beat the doctors, devil a one would 
go near you but myself and the major.” 

“ The major — Major Monsoon ?” 

“ No, Major Power himself. Well, he told your friends up here 
how it was going very hard with you, and that you were like to 
die ; and the same evening they sent down a beautiful litter, as 
like a hearse as two peas, for you, and brought you up here in 
state ; devil a thing was wanting but a few people to raise the cry, 
to make it as fine a funeral as ever I seen ; and sure I set up 
a whillilew myself in the Black Horse square, and the devils only 
laughed at me. 

“ Well, you see they put you into a beautiful, elegant bed, and 
the young lady herself sat down beside you, betune times fanning 
you with a big fan, and then drying her eyes, for she was weeping 
like a waterfall. ‘ Don Miguel,’ says she to me, — for, ye see, I 
put your cloak on by mistake when I was leaving the quarters, — 
‘ Don Miguel, questa hidalgo 6 vostro amigo ?’ 

“‘My most particular friend,’ says I, ‘ God spare him many years 
to be so.’ 

“ ‘ Then take up your quarters here,’ said she, ‘ and don’t leave 
him : we’ll do every thing in our power to make you comfortable.’ 

“ ‘ I’m not particular,’ says I, ‘ the run of the house ’ ” 

“ Then this is the Villa Nuova ?” said I, with a faint sigh. 

“ The same,” replied Mike ; “ and a sweet place it is for eating 
and drinking — for wine in bucketsfull, av ye axed for it, — for 
dancing and singing every evening, with as pretty craytures as 
ever I set eyes upon. IJpon my conscience, it’s as good as 
Galway; and good manners it is they have. What’s more, none 
of your liberties nor familiarities with strangers, but it’s Don 
Miguel, devil a. less. ‘ Don Miguel, av it’s plazing to you to take 


THi! IRISH DRAGOON. 


77 


a drop of Xeres before your meat, — or would you have a shaugh 
of a pipe or cigar when you’re done : that’s the way of it.’ ” 

And Sir George Dashwood,” said I, has he been here ? has 
he inquired for me ?” 

Every day, either himself or one of the staff comes galloping 
up at luncheon time to ask after you ; and then they have a bit 
of tender discoorse with the senhora herself. 0 ! devil a bit need 
ye fear them, she’s true blue ; and it isn’t the major’s fault, — upon 
my conscience it isn’t ; for he does be coming the blarney over her 
in beautiful style.” 

“ Does Miss Dashwood ever visit here ?” said I, with a voice 
faltering and uncertain enough to have awakened suspicion in a 
more practised observer. 

‘‘Never once; and that’s what I call, unnatural behaviour, after 
you saving her life ; and if she wasn’t ” 

“ Be silent, I say.” 

“ Well — well, there ; I won’t say any more ; and sure it’s time 
for me to be putting on my beard again. I’m going to the casino 
with Catrina, and sure it’s with real ladies I might be going av 
it wasn’t for Major Power, that told them I wasn’t a officer ; but 
it’s all right again. I gave them a great history of the Frees, from 
the time of Cuilla na Toole, that was one of the family, and 
a cousin of Moses, I believe ; and they behave well to one that 
comes from an ould stock.” 

“ Don Miguel ! Don Miguel,” said a voice from the garden. 

“ I’m coming, my angel ; I’m coming, my turtle dove,” said 
Mike, arranging his moustaches and beard with amazing dexterity. 
“ Ah, but it would do your heart good av you could take a peep at 
us about twelve o’clock, dancing ‘ dirty James’ for a bolero, and just 
see Miss Catrina, the lady’s maid, doing ‘ cover the buckle’ as neat 
as nature. There, now, there’s the lemonade near your hand, and 
I’ll leave you the lamp, and you may go asleep as soon as you 
please, for Miss Inez won’t come in to-night to play the guitar, for 
the doctor said it might do you harm now.” 

So saying, and before I could summon presence of mind to ask 
another question, Don Miguel wrapped himself in the broad folds 
of his Spanish cloak, and strode from the room with the air of an 
hidalgo. 

I slept but little that night ; the full tide of memory rushing in 
upon me, brought back the hour of my return to Lisbon, and the 
wreck of all my hopes, which, from the narrative of my servant, I 
now perceived to be complete. I dare not venture upon recording 
how my plans suggested themselves to my troubled spirit, and 
were in return rejected. To meet Lucy Dashwood— to make a 
full and candid declaration — to acknowledge that flirtation alone 
with Donna Inez — a mere passing, boyish flirtation — had given 
the colouring to my innocent passion, and that in heart and soul I 
was hers and hers only. This was my first resolve, but, alas ! if I 

q2 


78 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


nad not courage to sustain a common interview, to meet her in the 
careless crowd of a drawing-room, what could I do under circum- 
stances like these : besides, the matter would be cut very short by 
her coolly declaring that she had neither right nor inclination to 
listen to such a declaration. The recollection of her look as she 
passed me to her carriage came flashing across my brain, and de- 
cided this point. No, no ! Pll not encounter that ; however ap- 
pearances for the moment had been against me, she should not 
have treated me thus coldly and disdainfully. It was quite clear she 
had never cared for me ; wounded pride had been her only feeling : 
and so as I reasoned, I ended by satisfying myself that in that 
quarter all was at an end forever. 

Now, then, for dilemma number two, I thought. The senhora — ■ 
my first impulse was one of any thing but gratitude to her, by 
whose kind tender care my hours of pain and suffering had been 
soothed and alleviated ; but for her, and I should have been spared 
all my present embarrassment — all my shipwrecked fortunes ; but 
for her I should now be the aid-de-camp, residing in Sir George 
Dashwood’sown house, meeting with Lucy every hour of the day, 
dining beside her, riding out with her, pressing my suit by every 
means and with every advantage of my position ; but for her and 
her dark eyes — and, by-the-bye, what eyes they are — how full of 
brilliancy, yet how teeming with an expression of soft and melting 
sweetness ; and her mouth, too, how perfectly chiselled those full 
lips — how different from the cold, unbending firmness of Miss Dash- 
wood’s — not but I have seen Lucy smile too, and what a sweet smile 
— how it lighted up her fair cheek, and made her blue eyes darken 
and deepen till they looked like heaven’s own vault. Yes, there is 
more poetry in the blue eye. But still Inez is a very lovely girl, and 
her foot never was surpassed ; she is a coquette, too, about that foot 
and ankle — I rather like a woman to be so. What a sensation she 
would make in England — how she would be the rage ; and then I 
thought of home and Galway, and the astonishment of some, the 
admiration of others, as I presented her as my wife ; the congratu- 
lation of my friends, the wonder of the men, the tempered envy of 
the women. Methought I saw my uncle, as he pressed her in his 
arms, say, ‘‘Yes, Charley, this is a prize worth campaigning for.” 

The stray sounds of a guitar which came from the garden broke 
in upon my musings at this moment. It seemed as if a finger was 
straying heedlessly across the strings. I started up, and to my sur- 
prise perceived it was Inez. Before I had time to collect myself, 
a gentle tap at the window aroused me ; it opened softly, while 
from an unseen hand a bouquet of fresh flowers was thrown upon 
my bed ; before I could collect myself to speak, the sash was closed 
again, and I was alone. 


THH IRlSlBi DRAGOON. 


79 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE VISIT. 

Mike’s performances at the masquerade had doubtless been of 
the most distinguished character, and demanded a compensating 
period of repose, for he did not make his appearance the entire 
morning. Towards noon, however, the door from the garden 
gently opened, and I heard a step upon the stone terrace, and 
something which sounded to my ears like the clank of a sabre. I 
lifted my head, and saw Fred Power beside me. 

I shall spare my readers the recital of my friend, which, how- 
ever more full and explanatory of past events, contained in 
reality little more than Mickey Free had already told me. In fine, 
he informed me that our army, by a succession of retreating move- 
ments, had deserted the northern provinces, and now occupied the 
entrenched lines of Torres Vedras. That Massena, with a power- 
ful force, was still in march; reinforcements daily pouring in 
upon him — and every expectation pointing to the probability that 
he would attempt to storm our position. 

‘^The wise heads,” remarked Power, ‘^talk of our speedy em- 
barkation — the sanguine and the hot-brained rave of a great victory, 
and the retreat of Massena; but I was up at head-quarters last 
week with despatches, and saw Lord Wellington myself.” 

“ Well, what did you make out? did he drop any hint of his own 
views?” 

Faith, I can’t say he did : he asked me some questions about 
the troops just landed — he spoke a little of the commissary depart- 
xxient — damned the blankets — said that green forage was bad food 
for the artillery horses — sent me an English paper to read about 
the 0. P. riots, and said the harriers would throw off about six 
o’cloclc, and that he hoped to see me at dinner.” 

I could not restrain a laugh at Power’s catalogue of his lordship’s 
topics. ^^So,” said I, ‘‘he at least does not take any gloomy views 
of our present situation.” 

“ Who can tell what he thinks ? he’s ready to fight, if fighting 
will do any thing — and to retreat, if that be better. But that he’ll 
sleep an hour less, or drink a glass of claret more — come what will 
of it— I’ll believe from no man living.” 

“ We’ve lost one gallant thing, in any case, Charley,” resumed 
Power. “ Busaco was, I’m told, a glorious day, and our people 
were in the heat of it. So that if we do leave the Peninsula now — 
that will be a confounded chagrin. Not for you, my poor fellow, 


80 


CHARLES o’mALLET, 


for you could not stir ; but I was so cursed foolish as to take the 
staff appointment ; thus one folly ever entails another.’’ 

There was a tone of bitterness in which these words were ut- 
tered, that left no doubt upon my mihd — some arriere pens'ee 
remained lurking behind them. My eyes met his — he bit his lip, 
and, colouring deeply, rose froih the chair, and walked towards the 
window. 

The chance allusion of my man Mike, flashed upon me at the 
moment, and I dared not trust myself to break silence. I now 
thought I could trace in my friend’s manner less of that gay and 
careless buoyancy, which ever marked him. There was a tone, it 
seemed, of more grave and sombre character, and even when he 
jested, the smile his features bore, was not his usual frank and 
happy one, and speedily gave way to an expression I had never 
before remarked. Our silence, which had now lasted for some 
minutes, was becoming embarrassing — that strange consciousness, 
that, to a certain extent, we were reading each other’s thoughts, 
made us both cautious of breaking it; and, when at length turning 
abruptly round, he asked, When I hoped to be up and about 
again?” I felt my heart relieved from I knew not well what load 
of doubt and difficulty that oppressed it. We chatted on for some 
little time longer ; the news of Lisbon, and the daily gossip finish- 
ing our topics. 

Plenty of gayety, Charley, dinners and balls to no end ; so get 
well, my boy, and make the most of it.” 

Yes,” I replied, I’ll do my best ; but be assured the first use 
I’ll make of health, will be to join the regiment. I am heartily 
ashamed of myself for all I have lost already — although not alto- 
gether my fault.” 

“And will you really join at once?” said Power, with a look 
of eager anxiety, I could not possibly account for. 

“ Of course, I will — what have I ? what can I have to detain me 
here ?” 

What reply he was about to make at this moment I know not — 
but the door opened, and Mike announced Sir George Dashwood. 

“ Gently, my worthy man, not so loud, if you please,” said the 
mild voice of the general, as he stepped noiselessly across the room, 
evidently shocked at the indiscreet tone of my follower. “ Ah, 
Power, you here ! and our poor friend, how is he ?” 

“ Able to answer for himself, at last. Sir George,” said I, grasp- 
ing his proffered hand. 

“ My poor lad, you’ve had a long bout of it ; but you’ve saved 
your arm, and that’s well worth the lost time. Well ! I’ve come 
to bring you good news ; there’s been a very sharp cavalry affair, 
and our fellows have been the conquerors.” 

“There again. Power; listen to that; we are losing every 
thing.” 

“ Not so ; not so, my boy,” said Sir George, smiling blandly, but 


81 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 

archly. There are conquests to be won here as well as there ; 
and, in your present state, I rather think you better fitted for such 
as these.’’ Power’s brow grew clouded, he essayed a smile, but it 
failed ; and he rose, and hurried towards the window. 

As for me, my confusion must have led to a very erroneous im- 
pression of my real feelings ; and I perceived Sir George anxious 
to turn the channel of the conversation. 

“ You see but little of your host, O’Malley,” he resumed ; “ he 
is ever from home ; but I believe nothing could be kinder than his 
arrangements for you. You are aware that he kidnapped you 
from us ! I had sent Forbes over to bring you to us ; your room 
was prepared ; every thing in readiness ; when he met your man, 
Mike, setting forth upon a mule, who told him you had just taken 
your departure for the villa. We both had our claim upon you, 
and, I believe, pretty much on the same score. By-the-bye, you 
have not seen Lucy since your arrival. I never knew it till yester- 
day, when I asked if she did not find you altered.” 

I blundered out some absurd reply — blushed, corrected myself 
and got confused; which Sir George, attributing, doubtless, to my 
weak state, rose soon after, and, taking Power along with hirn, 
remarked, as he left the room, “ we are too much for him yet — I 
see that : so we’ll leave him quiet some time longer.” Thanking 
him in my heart for his true appreciation of my state, I sunk back 
upon my pillow to think over all I had heard and seen. 

“ Well, Mister Charles,” said Mike, as he came forward, with a 
smile, “ I suppose you heard the news. The 14th beat the French 
down at Merca there, and took seventy prisoners ; but, sure, it’s 
little good it’ll do after all.” 

“ And why not, Mike ?” 

‘‘ Musha, isn’t Boney coming himself? He’s bringing all the 
Roosians down with him, and going to destroj^ us entirely.” 

‘‘ Not at all, man ; you mistake. He’s nothing to do with Rus- 
sia, and has quite enough on his hands at this moment.” 

“ God grant it was truth you were talking ! but, you see, I read 
it myself in the papers, or Sergeant Haggarty did, which is the 
same thing — that he’s coming with the Cusacks.” 

« With who ? with what ?” 

With the Cusacks.” 

‘‘What the devil do you mean? who are they?” 

“ 0 , Tower of Ivory ! did you never hear of the Cusacks, with 
the red beards, and the red breeches, and long poles with pike- 
heads on them, that does all the devilment on horseback — spiking 
and spitting the people like larks !” 

“ The Cossacks, is it you mean ? The Cossacks ?” 

“Ay, just so; the Cusacks. They’re from Clare Island and 
thereabouts; and there’s more of them in Meath. They’re my 
mother’s people, and was always real devils for fighting.” 

I burst out into an immoderate fit of laughing at Mike’s ety- 

VoL. II.— 11 


82 


CHARLES o’mALLET. 


mology, which thus converted Hetman PlatofF into a Galway 
man. 

“ 0, murder, isn’t it cruel to hear you laugh that way. There, 
now, alanna ! be asy, and Pll tell you more news. We’ve the 
house to ourselves to-day. The ould gentleman’s down at Behlem, 
and the daughter’s in Lisbon, making great preparation for a grand 
ball they’re to give when you’re quite well.” 

I hope I shall be with the army in a few days, Mike; and cer- 
tainly if I’m able to move about. I’ll not remain longer at Lisbon.” 

Arrah, don’t say so, now ! When was you ever so comfort- 
able? Upon my conscience, it’s more like Paradise than any thing 
else. If ye see the dinner we sit down to every day; and as for 
drink — if it wasn’t that I sleep on a ground floor, I’d seldom see a 
blanket.” 

“ Well, certainly, Mike, I agree with you, these are hard things 
to tear ourselves away from.” 

Aren’t they now, sir ? and then Miss Catherine, I’m taching 
her Irish !” 

Teaching her Irish ! for heaven’s sake, what use can she make 
of Irish !” 

Ah, the creature, she doesn’t know better ; and, as she was 
always bothering me to learn her English, I promised one day to 
do it ; but, ye see, somehow I never was very proficient in strange 
tongues ; so I thought to myself, Irish will do as well. So, you 
perceive, we’re taking a course of Irish literature, as Mr. Lynch 
says, in Athlone ; and upon my conscience, she’s an apt scholar.” 

“ ^ Good morning to you, Katey,’ says Mr. Power to her the 
other day, as he passed through the hall. ^ Good morning, my 
dear, I hear you speak English perfectly now ?’ 

^ Honia mon diaoul^ says she, making a courtesy. 

‘‘Be the powers, I thought he’d die with the laughing. 

“ ‘ Well, my dear, I hope you don’t mean it — do you know what 
you’re saying ?’ 

“ ‘ Honour bright, major !’ says I ; ‘honour bright!’ and I gave 
him a wink at the same time. 

“ ‘ 0, that’s it !’ said he, ‘ is it !’ and so he went off*, holding his 
hands to his sides, with the bare laughing; and your honour knows 
it wasn’t a blessing she wished him for all that.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON 


83 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE CONFESSION. 

What a strange position this of mine, thought I, a few mornings 
after the events detailed in the last chapter. How very fascinating 
in some respects — how full of all the charm of romance, and how 
confoundedly difficult to see one’s way through ! 

To understand my cogitation right Jigurez vousymy dear reader, 
a large and splendidly furnished drawing-room, from one end of 
which an orangery in full blossom opens ; from the other side is 
seen a delicious little boudoir, where books, bronzes, pictures, and 
statues, in all the artistique disorder of a lady’s sanctum, are bathed 
in a deep purple light from a stained glass window of the thirteenth 
century. 

At a small table beside the wood fire, whose mellow light is flirt- 
ing with the sunbeams upon the carpet, stands an antique silver 
breakfast service, which none but the hand of Benvenuto could 
have chiselled ; beside it sits a girl, young and beautiful, her dark 
eyes, beaming beneath their long lashes, are fixed with an expres- 
sion of watchful interest upon a pale sickly youth who, lounging 
upon a sofa opposite, is carelessly turning over the leaves of a new 
journal, or gazing steadfastly on the fretted gothic of the ceiling, 
while his thoughts are travelling many a mile away. The lady 
being the Senhora Inez ; the nonchalant invalid, your unworthy 
acquaintance, Charles O’Malley. 

What a very strange position to be sure. 

Then you are not equal to this ball to night,” said she, after a 
pause of some minutes. 

I turned as she spoke ; her words had struck audibly upon my 
ear — but, lost in my reverie, I could but repeat my own fixed 
thought — how strange to be so situated ! 

‘‘ You are really very tiresome, signor ; I assure you, you are. I 
have been giving you a most elegant description of the Casino 
fete, and the beautiful costume of our Lisbon belles, but I can get 
nothing from you but this muttered something, which may be very 
shocking for aught I know. I’m sure your friend Major Power 
would be much more attentive to me, that is,” added she archly, 

if Miss Dashwood were not present.” 

“ What— why — you don’t mean that there is any thing there — 
that Power is paying attention to .” 

Madre divina, how that seems to interest you and how red you 


84 


CHARLES O^MALLEY, 


are; if it were not that you never met her before, and that your 
acquaintance did not seem to make rapid progress, then I should 
say you are in love with her yourself/’ 

I had to laugh at this, but felt my face flushing more and more. 

And so,” said I, aflecting a careless and indifferent tone, the gay 
Fred Power is smitten at last.” 

“Was it so very difficult a thing to accomplish?” said she, 
slily. 

“ He seems to say so, at least. And the lady, how does she ap- 
pear to receive his attentions ?” 

“ Oh, I should say with evident pleasure and satisfaction, as all 
girls do the advances of men they don’t care for, nor intend to care 
for.” 

“ Indeed,” said I, slowly ; “indeed, senhora,” looking into her 
eiyes as I spoke, as if to read if the lesson were destined for my 
benefit. 

“ There, don’t stare so ! — every one knows that.” 

“ So you don’t think, then, that Lucy — I mean Miss Dashwood, 
why are you laughing so ?” 

“ How can I help it ; your calling her Lucy is so good, I wish 
she heard it ; she’s the very proudest girl I ever knew.” 

“But to come back; you really think she does not care for 
him ?” 

“ No more than for you ; and I may be pardoned for the simile, 
having seen your meeting. But let me give you the news of our 
own fete. Saturday is the day fixed ; and you must be quite well 
— I insist upon it. Miss Dashwood has promised to come — no 
small concession ; for, after all, she has never once been here since 
the day you frightened her. I can’t help laughing at my blunder 
— the t wo people I had promised myself should fall desperately in 
love with each other, and who will scarcely meet.” 

“ But I trusted,” said I pettishly, “ that you were not disposed to 
resign your own interest in me ?” 

“ Neither was I,” said she, with an easy smile, “ except that I 
have so many admirers. I might even spare to my friends ; though 
after all, I should be sorry, to lose you — I like you.” 

“ Yes,” said I, half bitterly, “ as girls do those they never intend 
to care for ; is it not so ?” 

“ Perhaps yes, and perhaps but is it going to rain ? How 

provoking ! and I have ordered my horse. Well, Signor Carlos, I 
leave you to your delightful newspaper, and all the magnificent 
descriptions of battles, and sieges, and skirmishes for which you 
seem doomed to pine without ceasing. There, don’t kiss my hand 
twice, that’s not right.” 

“ Well, let me begin again ” 

“ I shall not breakfast with you any more ; but, tell me, am I to 
order a costume for you in Lisbon : or will you arrange all that 
yourself? You must come to the fete, you know.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


85 


If you would be so very kind.’^ 

‘‘I will then be so very kind; and, once more, adios.^^ So say- 
ing, and with a slight motion of her hand, she smiled a good-by, 
and left me. 

What a lovely girl ! thought I, as I rose and walked to the win- 
dow, muttering to myself Othello’s line, and 

“ When I love thee not, chaos is come again.” 

In fact, it was the perfect expression of my feeling — the only solu- 
tion to all the difficulties surrounding me, being to fall desperately, 
irretrievably, in love with the fair senhora, which, all things con- 
sidered, was not a very desperate resource for a gentleman in 
trouble. As I thought over the hopelessness of one attachment, 
I turned calmly to consider all the favourable points of the 
other. She was truly beautiful, attractive in every sense; her 
manner most fascinating, and her disposition, so far as I could pro- 
nounce, perfectly amiable. I felt already something more than 
interest about her ; how very easy would be the transition to a 
stronger feeling. There was an eclat, too, about being her accepted 
lover that had its charm. She was the belle par excellence of 
Lisbon ; and then a sense of pique crossed my mind as I reflected 
what would Lucy say of him whom she had slighted and insulted, 
when he became the husband of the beautiful and millionare Sen- 
hora Inez. 

As my meditations had reached thus far, the door opened 
stealthily, and Catharine appeared, her finger upon her lips, and 
her gesture indicating caution. She carried on her arm a mass of 
drapery covered by a large mantle, which throwing off as she 
entered, she displayed before me a rich blue domino with silver 
embroidery. It was large and loose in its folds, so as thoroughly 
to conceal the figure of any wearer. This she held up before me 
for an instant without speaking, when at length seeing my curiosity 
fully excited, she said — 

This is the senhora’s domino. I should be ruined if she knew 
I showed it ; but 1 promised — that is, I told ” 

“ Yes, yes, I understand,” relieving her embarrassment about 
the source of her civilities ; “ go on.” 

“ Well there are several others like it, but with this small differ- 
ence, instead of a carnation, which all the others have embroidered 
upon the cuff, I have made it a rose : you perceive. La Senhora 
knows nothing of this : none save yourself knows it. I’m sure I 
may trust you with the secret.” 

‘‘ Fear not in the least, Catherine ; you have rendered me a 
great service. Let me look at it once more : ah, there’s no diffi- 
culty in detecting it. And you are certain she is unaware of it 
Perfectly so ; she has several other costumes, but in this one 
I know she intends some surprise ; so be upon your guard.” 

With these words, carefully once more concealing the rich dress 

H 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


8€ 

beneath the mantle, she withdrew ; while I strolled forth to won- 
der what mystery might lie beneath this scheme, and speculate 
how far I myself was included in the plot she spoke of. 

^ * * * •Sit * 

* ^ * * 

For the few days which succeeded I passed my time much alone. 
The senhora was but seldom at home; and I remarked that 
Power rarely came to see me. A strange feeling of half coolness 
had latterly grown between us, and, instead of the open confi- 
dence we formerly indulged in when together, we appeared now 
rather to chat over things of mere every-day interest than our own 
immediate plans and prospects. There was ^ kind of pre-occupa- 
tion, too, in his manner that struck me: his mind seemed ever 
straying from the topics he talked of to something remote ; and 
altogether he was no longer the frank and reckless dragoon I had 
ever known him. What could be the meaning of this change ? 
Had he found out by any accident that I was to blame in my 
conduct towards Lucy — had any erroneous impression of my 
interview with her reached his ears ? This was most improbable ; 
besides, there was nothing in that to draw down his censure or 
condemnation, however represented ; and was it that he was him- 
self in love with her — that, devoted heart and soul to Lucy, he 
regarded me as a successful rival, preferred before him ! Oh, how 
could I have so long blinded myself to the fact ! This was the 
true solution of the whole difficulty. I had more than once sus- 
pected this to be so : now all the circumstances of proof poured 
in upon me. I called to mind his agitated manner the night of 
my arrival in Lisbon, his thousand questions concerning the rea- 
sons of my furlough ; and then, lately, the look of unfeigned 
pleasure with which he heard me resolve to join my regiment the 
moment I was sufficiently recovered. I also remembered how 
assiduously he pressed his intimacy with the senhora, Lucy’s 
dearest friend here ; his continual visits at the villa ; those long 
walks in the garden, where his very look betokened some confi- 
dential mission of the heart. Yes, there was no doubt of it ; he 
loved Lucy Dashwood ! Alas ! there seemed to be no end to the 
complication of my misfortunes ; one by one I appeared fated to 
lose whatever had a hold upon my affections, and to stand alone 
unloved and uncared for in the world. My thoughts turned to- 
wards the senhora, but I could not deceive myself into any hope 
there. My own feelings were untouched, and hers I felt to be 
equally so. Young as I was, there was no mistaking the easy 
smile of coquetry, the merry laugh of flattered vanity, for a deeper 
and holier feeling. And then I did not wish it otherwise. One 
only had taught me to feel how ennobling, how elevating, in all 
its impulses can be a deep-rooted passion for a young and beau- 
tiful girl ! from her eyes alone had I caught the inspiration — that 


TI^E IRISH DRAGOON. 


87 


made me pant for glory and distinction. I could not transfer the 
allegiance of my heart, since it had taught that very heart to beat 
high and proudly. Lucy, lost to me forever as she must be, was 
still more than any other woman ever could be. All the past 
clung to her memory, all the prestige of the future must point to 
it also. 

And Power : why had he not trusted, why had he not confided 
in me ? Was this like my old and tried friend ? Alas ! I was for- 
getting that in his eye I was the favored rival, and not the despised, 
rejected suitor. 

It is past now, thought I, as I rose and walked into the garden ; 
the dream that made life a fairy tale is dispelled ; the cold reality 
of the world is before me, and my path lies a lonely and a solitary 
one. 

My first resolution was to see Power, and relieve his mind 
of any uneasiness as regarded my pretensions ; they existed no 
longer. As for me I was no obstacle to his happiness ; it was then 
but fair and honorable that I should tell him so ; this done I should 
leave Lisbon at once : the cavalry had for the most part been or- 
dered to the rear, still there was always something going forward 
at the outposts. 

The idea of active service, the excitement of a campaigning 
life cheered me, and I advanced along the dark alley of the gar- 
den with a lighter and a freer heart. My resolves were not des- 
tined to meet delay ; as I turned the angle of a walk, Power was 
before me ; he was leaning against a tree, his hands crossed upon 
his bosom, his head bowed forward, and his whole air and attitude 
betokening deep reflection. 

He started as I came up, and seemed almost to change color. 

Well, Charley,” said he, after a moment’s pause, “you look 
better this morning ; how goes the arm ?” 

“ The arm is ready for service again, and its owner most anx- 
ious for it. Do you know, Fred, Pm thoroughly weary of this 
life ?” 

“ They’re little better, however, at the lines ; tlie French are in 
position but never adventure a movement, and except some few 
affairs at the pickets there is really nothing to do.” 

“ No matter, remaining here can never serve one’s interests, and 
besides, I have accomplished what I came for ” 

I was about to add “ the restoration of my health,” when he 
suddenly interrupted me, eyeing me fixedly as he spoke. 

“ Indeed ! indeed ! is that so ?” 

“ Yes,” said I, half puzzled at the tone and manner of the 
speech ; “ I can join now when I please ; meanwhile, Fred, I have 
been thinking of you. Yes, don’t be surprised, at the very mo- 
ment we met you were in my thoughts.” 


88 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


I took his arm as I said this, and led him down the alley. 

We are too old, and, I trust, too true friends, Fred, to have 
secrets from each other, and yet we have been playing this silly 
game for some weeks past ; now, my dear fellow, I have yours, 
and it is only fair justice you should have mine, and faith I feel 
you’d have discovered it long since, had your thoughts been as 
free as I have known them to be. Fred, you are in love ; there, 
don’t wince man, I know it; but hear me out. You believe me 
to be so also ; nay, more, you th^ink that my chances of success are 
better, stronger than your own ; learn, then, that I have none, 
absolutely none. Don’t interrupt me now, for this avowal cuts me 
deeply ; my own heart alone knows what I suffer as I record my 
wrecked fortunes, but I repeat it, my hopes are at an end forever ; 
but Fred, my boy, I cannot lose my friend too. If I have been 
the obstacle to your path, I am so no more. Ask me not why ; it 
is enough that I speak in all truth and sincerity. Ere three days I 
shall leave this, and with it all the hopes that once beamed upon 
my fortunes and all the happiness — nay, not all, my boy, for I 
feel some thrill at my heart yet, as I think that I have been true 
to you.” 

I know not what more I spoke, nor how he replied to me. — 
I felt the warm grasp of his hand, I saw his delighted smile ; 
the words of grateful acknowledgments his lips uttered convey- 
ed but an imperfect meaning to my ear, and I remembered no 
more. 

The courage which sustained me for the moment sunk gradually 
as I meditated over my avowal, and I could scarce help accusing 
Power of a breach of friendship for exacting a confession which, 
in reality, I had volunteered to give him. How Lucy herself would 
think of my conduct was ever occurring to my thoughts, and I 
felt, as I ruminated upon the conjectures it might give rise to, how 
much more likely a favorable opinion might now be formed of me, 
than when such an estimation could have crowned me with de- 
light. Yes, thought I, she will at last learn to know him, who 
loved her with truth and with devoted affection ; and, when the 
blight of all his hopes is accomplished, the fair fame of his fidelity 
will be proved. The march, the bivouac, the battle-field, are now 
all to me ; and the campaign alone presents a prospect which may 
fill up the aching void that disappointed and ruined hopes have left 
behind them. 

How I longed for the loud call of the trumpet, the clash of the 
steel, the tramp of the war-horse, though the proud distinction of 
a soldier’s life were less to me in the distance than the mad and 
whirlwind passion of a charge, and the loud din of the rolling ar- 
tillery. 

It was only some, hours after, as I sat alone in my chamber, that 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


all the circumstances of our meeting came back clearly to my 
memory, and I could.not help muttering to myself, It is indeed a 
hard lot, that to cheer the heart of my friend I must bear witness 
to the despair that sheds darkness on my own.’^ 


90 


CHARLES o’MALLEr. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

MY CHARGER. 

Although I felt my heart relieved of a heavy load by the con 
fession I had made to Power, yet still I shrank from meeting him 
for some days after ; a kind of fear lest he should in any way re- 
cur to our conversation continually beset me, and I felt that the 
courage which bore me up for my first effort would desert me on 
the next occasion. '' 

My determination to join my regiment was now made up, and 
I sent forward a resignation of my appointment to Sir George 
Dashwood’s staff, which I had never been in health to fulfil, and 
commenced with energy all my preparations for a speedy de- 
parture. 

The reply to my rather formal letter was a most kind note writ- 
ten by himself. He regretted the unhappy cause which had so 
long separated us, and though wishing, as he expressed it, to have 
me near him, perfectly approved of my resolution. 

“ Active service alone, my dear boy, can ever place you in the 
position you ought to occupy, and I rejoice the more at your de- 
cision in this matter, as I feared the truth of certain reports here, 
Avhich attributed to you other, plans than those which a campaign 
suggests. My mind is now easy on this score, and I pray you 
forgive me if my congratulations are mal apropos.^’ 

After some hints for my future management, and a promise of 
some letters to his friends at head-quarters, he concludes : — 

As this climate does not seem to suit my daughter, I have ap- 
plied for a change, and am in daily hope of obtaining it ; before 
going, however, I must beg your acceptance of the charger which 
my groom will deliver to your servant with this. I was so struck 
with his figure and action, that I purchased him before leaving 
England without well knowing why or wherefore. Pray let him 
see some service under your auspices, which he is most unlikely to 
do under mine. He has plenty of bone to be a weight-carrier, 
and they tell me also that he has speed enough for any thing.” 

Mike’s voice in the lawn beneath interrupted my reading farther, 
and on looking out I perceived him and Sir. George Dashwood’s 
servant standing beside a large and striking looking horse, which 
they were both examining with all the critical accuracy of adepts. 

“ Arrah, isn’t he a darling, a real beauty, every inch of him ?” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


91 


That ’ere splint don’t signify nothing; he aren’t the worse of 
it,” said the English groom. 

“ Of course it does’nt,” replied Mike. ‘‘ What a forehand ! and 
the legs, clean as a whip.” 

There’s the best of him, though,” interrupted the other, pat- 
ting the strong hind-quarters with his hand. “ There’s the stuff to 
push him along through heavy ground and carry him over tim- 
ber.” 

Or a stone wall,” said Mike, thinking of Galway. 

My own impatience to survey my present had now brought 
me into the conclave, and before many minutes were over I had 
him saddled, and was caracoling around the lawn with a spirit and 
energy 1 had not felt for mofiths long. Some small fences lay 
before me, and over these he carried me with all the ease and free- 
dom of a trained hunter. My courage mounted with the excite- 
ment, and I looked eagerly around for some more bold and dashing 
leap. 

“You may take him over the avenue gate,” said the English 
groom, divining with a jockey’s readiness what I looked for ; “he’ll 
do it, never fear him.” 

Strange as my equipment was, with an undress jacket flying 
loosely open, and a bare head, away I went. The gate which the 
groom spoke of, was a strongly barred one of oak timber, nearly 
five feet high — its difficulty as a leap only consisted in the winding 
approach ; and the fact that it opened upon a hard road beyond it. 

In a second or two a kind of half fear came across me. My long 
illness had unnerved me, and my limbs felt fveak and yielding — 
but as I pressed into the canter, that secret sympathy between the 
horse and his rider, shot suddenly through me, I pressed my spurs 
to his flanks and dashed him at it. 

Unaccustomed to such treatment, the noble animal bounded 
madly forward ; with two tremendous plunges, he sprung wildly 
in the air, and shaking his long mane with passion, stretched out at 
the gallop. 

My own blood boiled now as tempestuously as his : and with a 
shout of reckless triumph, I rose him at the gate. Just at the in- 
stant two figures appeared before it — the copse had concealed their 
approach hitherto — ^but they stood now, as if transfixed ; the wild 
attitude of the horse, the not less wild cry of his rider, had de- 
prived them for the time of all energy ; and overcome by the sudden 
danger, they seemed rooted to the ground. What I said, spoke, 
begged, or imprecated, heaven knows — not I. But they stirred 
not ! one moment more, and they must lie trampled beneath my 
horse’s hoofs— he was already on his haunches for the bound ; 
when wheeling half aside, I faced him at the wall. It was at least 
a foot higher, and of solid stone masonry, and as I did so, I felt 
that I was periling my life to save theirs. One vigourous dash of 
the spur I gave him, as I lifted him to the leap — he bounded be- 


92 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


neath it quick as lightning — still with a spring like a rocket, he rose 
into the air, cleared the wall, and stood trembling and frightened 
on the road side. 

“ Safe by Jupiter, and splendidly done too,” cried a voice neat 
me ; that I immediately recognised as Sir George Dashwood’s. 

Lucy, my love, look up — Lucy, my dear there is no danger 
now. She has fainted — O’Malley fetch some water — fast. Poor 
fellow — your own nerves seem shaken — why you’ve let your 
horse go — come here, for heaven’s sake— support her for an instant. 
I’ll fetch some water.” 

It appeared to me like a dream — I leaned against the pillar of 
the gate — the cold and death-like features of Lucy Dash wood lay 
motionless upon my arm — her hand falling heavily upon my shoul- 
der, touched my cheek — the tramp of my horse, as he galloped 
onward, was the only sound that broke the silence, as I stood there, 
gazing steadfastly upon the pale brow and paler cheek, down 
which a solitary tear was slowly stealing. I know not how the 
minutes passed — my memory took no note of time, but at length a 
gentle tremor thrilled her frame, a slight scarce perceptible blush 
coloured her fair face, her lips slightly parted, and heaving a deep 
sigh, she looked around her — gradually her eyes turned and met 
mine. Oh, the bliss unutterable of that moment. It was no longer 
the look of cold scorn she had given me last — the expression was 
one of soft and speaking gratitude — she seemed to read my very 
heart, and know its truth : there was a tone of deep and compas- 
sionate interest in the glance ; and forgetting all — everything that 
had passed — all save my unaltered unalterable love, I kneeled 
beside her, and, in words burning as my own heart burned, poured 
out my tale of mingled sorrow and affection, with all the eloquence 
of passion. I vindicated my unshaken faith — reconciling the con- 
flicting evidences with the proofs I proffered of my attachment. 
If my moments were measured — I spent them not idly — I called to 
witness how every action of my soldier’s life emanated from her — 
how her few and chance words had decided the character of my fate, 
if aught of fame or honour were my portion, to her I owed it. As 
hurried onwards by my ardent hopes, I forgot Power and all 
about him — a step up the gravel walk came rapidly nearer, and I 
had but time to assume my former attitude beside Lucy, as her 
father came up. 

Well, Charley, is she better ? Oh, I see she is : here we have 
the whole household at our heels so saying, he pointed to a 
string of servants pressing eagerly forward with every species of 
restoratives that Portuguese ingenuity has invented. 

The next moment we were joined by the senhora, who, pale 
with fear, seemed scarcely less in need of assistance than her 
friend. 

Amid questions innumerable — explanations sought for on all 
sides — mistakes and misconceptions as to the whole occurrence — 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


93 


we took our way towards the villa, Lucy walking between Sir 
George and Donna Inez, while I followed, leaning upon Power’s 
arm. 

“ They’ve caught him again, O’Malley,” said the general, turn- 
ing half round to me ; he too seemed as much frightened as any 
of us.” 

It is time. Sir George, I should think of thanking you. I never 
was so mounted in my life ” 

A splendid charger, by Jove,” said Power ; but, Charley my 
lad, no more feats of this nature, if you love me : no girl’s heart 
will stand such continual assaults as your winning horsemanship 
submits it to.” 

I was about making some half angry reply, when he continued, 
“ There, don’t look sulky, I have news for you. Quill has just 
arrived. I met him at Lisbon ; he has got leave of absence for a 
few days, and is coming to our masquerade here this evening.” 

This evening !” said I, in amazement ; why is it so soon ?” 

Of cburse it is. . Have you not got all your trappings ready ? 
The Dashwoods came out here on purpose to spend the day — but 
come, I’ll drive you into town. My tilbury is ready, and we’ll 
both, look out for our costumes.” So saying, he led me along 
towards the house, when after a rapid change of my toilet, we set 
out to Lisbon. 


94 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


CHAPTER XVII. 

MAURICE. 

It seemed a conceded matter between Power and myself that 
we should never recur to the conversation we held in the garden ; 
and so, although we dined tete a tUe that day, neither of us ven- 
tured by any allusion the most distant, to advert to what it was 
equally evident, was uppermost in the minds of both. 

All our endeavours, therefore, to seem easy and unconcerned, 
were in vain; a restless anxiety to seem interested about things and 
persons we were totally indifferent to, pervaded all our essays at 
conversation. By degrees we grew weary of the parts we were 
acting, and each relapsed into a moody silence, thinking over his 
plans and projects, and totally forgetting the existence of the other. 

The decanter was passed across the table without speaking, 
a half nod intimated the bottle was standing, and, except an 
occasional malediction upon an intractable cigar, nothing was 
heard. 

Such was the agreeable occupation we were engaged in, when, 
towards nine o’clock, the door opened, and the great Maurice him- 
self stood before us. 

Pleasant fellows, upon my conscience, and jovial over their 
liquor ; confound your smoking : that may do very well in a 
bivouac. Let us have something warm !” 

Quill’s interruption was a most welcome one to both parties, and 
we rejoiced with a sincere pleasure at his coming. 

“ What shall it be, Maurice ? Port or sherry mulled, and an 
anchovy ?” 

Or what say you to a bowl of bishop ?” said I. 

“ Hurra for the church, Charley, let us have the bishop ; and not 
to disparage Fred’s taste, we’ll be eating the anchovy while the 
liquor’s concocting.” 

Well, Maurice, and now for the news. How are matters at 
Torres Vedras ? Anything like movement in that quarter ?” 

« Nothing very remarkable. Massena made a reconnoisance 
some days since, and one of our batteries threw a shower of grape 
among the staff, which spoiled the procession, and sent them back 
in very disorderly time. Then we’ve had a few skirmishes to the 
front with no great results — a few court martials — bad grub and 
plenty of grumbling.” 

“ Why, what would they have ? it’s a great thing to hold the 
French army in check, within a few marches of Lisbon.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


95 


‘‘ Charley, my man, who cares twopence for the French army, 
or Lisbon, or the Portuguese, or the junta, or any thing about it — . 
every man is pondering over his own affairs. One fellow wants 
to get home again, and be sent upon some recruiting station. — 
Another wishes to get a step or two in promotion, to come to 
Torres Vedras, where even the grande armee can’t. Then some 
of us are in love, and some more of us are in debt. There is 
neither glory nor profit to be had : but here’s the bishop, smoking 
and steaming with an odour of nectar.” 

“ And our fellows, have you seen them lately ?” 

“I dined with yours on Tuesday,— was it Tuesday? Yes, I 
dined with them. By-the-by, Sparks was taken prisoner that 
morning.” 

“ Sparks . taken prisoner ! poor fellow. I am sincerely sorry. 
How did it happen, Maurice ?” 

“ Very simply. Sparks had a forage patrol towards Vieda, and 
set out early in the morning with his party. It seemed that they 
succeeded perfectly, and were returning to the lines ; when poor 
Sparks, always susceptible where the sex are concerned, saw, or 
thought he saw, a lattice gently open as he rode from the village ; 
and a very taper finger make a signal to him. Dropping a little 
behind the rest, he waited till his men had debouched upon the 
road, when, riding quietly up, he coughed a couple of times to 
attract the fair unknown — a handkerchief waved from the lattice 
in reply, which was speedily closed, and our valiant cornet accord- 
ingly dismounted and entered the house. 

The remainder of the adventure is soon told ; for, in a few 
seconds after, two men mounted on one horse were seen galloping 
at top speed towards the French lines. The foremost being a 
French officer of the fourth cuirassiers; the gentleman with his 
face to the tail, our friend Sparks ; the lovely unknown being a 
vieille moustache of Loisson’s corps, who had been wounded in a 
skirmish some days before, and lay waiting an opportunity of re- 
joining his party. One of our prisoners knew this fellow well ; he 
had been promoted from the ranks, and was a Hercules for feats 
of strength : so that, after all. Sparks could not help himself.” 

“ Well, I’m really sorry, but, as you say. Sparks’ tender nature 
is always the ruin of him.” 

“ Of him ! ay, and of you — and of Power — and of myself— of all 
of us. Isn’t it the sweet creatures that make fools of us from 
Father Adam down to Maurice Quill ; neither sparing age nor rank 
in the service, half-pay, nor the veteran battalion, — its all one? 
Pass the jug there, O’Shaughnessy ” 

“ Ah, by-the-by, how’s the major ?” 

“ Charmingly : only a little bit in a scrape just now. Sir Arthur — 
Lord Wellington I mean— had him up for his fellows being caught 
pillaging, and gave him a devil of a rowing a few days ago. 

“ ‘ Very disorderly corps, yours, Major O’Shaughnessy, said the 


96 


CHARLES O^MALLET, 


general ; ^ more men up for punishment than any regiment in the 
service.^ 

Shaugh muttered something, but his voice was lost in a loud 
cock-a-doo-do-doo, that some bold chanticleer set up at the mo- 
ment. 

‘ If the officers do their duty, Major O’Shaughnessy, these acts 
of insubordination do not occur.’ 

“ Cock-a-doo-do-doo, was the reply. Some of the staff found it 
hard not to laugh ; but the general went on — 

‘‘ ‘ If, therefore, the practice does not cease, I’ll draft the men 
into West India regiments.’ 

Cock-a-doo-do-doo.’ 

‘‘ ^ And if any articles pillaged from the inhabitants are detected 
in the quarters, or about the person of the troops ’ 

‘ Cock-a-doo-do-fl?oo,’ screamed louder here than ever. 

Damn that cock. Where is it ?” 

“ There was a general look around on all sides, which seemed in 
vain; when a tremendous repetition of the cry resounded from 
O’Shaughnessy’s coat pocket : thus detecting the valiant major 
himself in the very practice of his corps. There was no standing 
this : every one burst out into a peal of laughing ; and Lord Wel- 
lington himself could not resist, hut turned away muttering to 
himself as he went — ^Damned robbers — every man of them,’ 
while a final war note from the major’s pocket closed the inter- 
view.” 

Confound you, Maurice ; you’ve always some villainous nar- 
rative or other. You never crossed a street for shelter without 
making something out of it.” 

True this time, as sure as my name’s Maurice ; — but the bowl 
is empty ?” 

“ Never mind, here comes its successor. How long can you stay 
among us ?” 

A few days at most. Just took a run off to see the sights ; I 
was all over Lisbon this morning : saw the Inquisition and the 
cells, and the place where they tried the fellows — the kind of grand 
jury room, with the great picture of Adam and Eve at the end of 
it. What a beautiful creature she is ! hair down to her waist, and 
such eyes ! ‘ Ah, ye darling !’ said I to myself, small blame to him 
for what he did. Wouldn’t I ate every crab in the garden, if ye 
asked me !” 

‘‘ I must certainly go see her, Maurice. Is she very Portuguese 
in her style ?” 

Devil a bit of it. She might be a Limerick woman, with ele- 
gant brown hair, and blue eyes, and a skin like snow.” 

Come, come, they’ve pretty girls in Lisbon too, doctor.” 

« Yes, faith,” said Power, “that they have.” 

" Nothing like Ireland, boys ; not a bit of it ; they’re the girls 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


97 


for my money ; and where’s the man can reeist them ? From St. 

Patrick, that had to go live in the Wicklow mountains ” 

St. Kevin you mean, doctor.” 

Sure it’s all ' the same, they were twins. I made a little song 
about them one evening last week — the women I mean.” 

“ Let us have it, Maurice ; let us have it, old fellow. What’s 
the measure ?” 

“ Short measure : four little verses, devil a more.” 

‘‘ But the time, I mean ?” 

Whenever you like to sing it, here it is.” 

; • 

THE GIRLS OF THE WEST. 


Air — “ Teddy ye Gander ” 
With feeling ; hut not too slow • 


I. 

You may talk, if you please, 

Of the brown Portuguese, 

But, wherever you roam, wherever you roam. 

You nothing will meet. 

Half so lovely or sweet, » 

As the girls at home, the girls at home. 

II. 

Their eyes are not sloes. 

Nor so long is their nose. 

But, between me and you, between me and you, 

' ' They are just as alarming, 

And ten times more charming. 

With hazel and blue, with hazel and blue. 

III. 

They don’t ogle a man. 

O’er the top of their fan, 

’Till his heart’s in a flame, his heart’s in a flame 
But though bashful and shy, 

They’ve a look in their eye. 

That just comes to the same, just comes to the same. 

IV. 

No mantillas they sport. 

But a petticoat short. 

Shows an ankle the best, an ankle the best. 

And a leg ; but, 0 murther ! 

I dare not go further. 

So here’s to the West ; so here’s to the West. 

Now that really is a sweet little thing. Moore s, isn t it ? 

Vot. II.— 13 I 


i 


98 


CHARLES o’mALLET, 


“ Not a bit of it ; niy own muse, every word of it.” 

And the music ?” said 1. 

<< My own, too. Too much spice in that bowl ; that’s an inva- 
riable error in your devisers of drink, to suppose that the tipple you 
start with, can please your palate to the last ; they forget that as 
we advance either in years or lush, our tastes simplify.” 

Nouz revenons aux nos premieres amours. Is’nt that it?” 

No, not exactly, for we go even further ; for if you mark the 
progression of a sensible man’s fluids, you’ll find what an emblem 
of life it presents to you. What is his initiatory glass of “ Chablis” 
that he throws down with his oysters, but the budding expectancy 
of boyhood — the appetizing sense of pleasure to come ; then follows 
the sherry, with his soup, that warming glow, which strength and 
vigour, in all their consciousness impart, as a glimpse of life is 
opening before him. Then youth succeeds— buoyant, wild, tem- 
pestuous youth — foaming and sparkling, like the bright champagne, 
whose stormy surface subsides into a myriad of bright stars.” 

Q^il de Perdeaux'^ 

“Not a bit of it; woman’s own eye; brilliant, sparkling, life- 
giving ” 

“ Devil take the fellow, he’s getting poetical.” 

“ Ah, Fred ! if that could only last ; but one must come to the 
burgundies with his maturer years. Your first glass of hermitage 
is the algebraic sign for five and thirty — the glorious burst is over ; 
the pace is still good to be sure, but the great enthusiasm is past. 
You can afford to look forward, but, confound it, you’ve a long 
way to look back also.” 

“ I say, Charley, our friend has contrived to finish the bishop 
during his disquisition ; the bowl’s quite empty.” 

“You don’t say so, Fred. To be sure, how a man does forget 
himself in abstract speculations ; but let us have a little more, I’ve 
not concluded my homily.” 

“ Not a glass, Maurice ; it’s already past nine ; we are all pledged 
to the masquerade, and before we’ve dressed and got there, ’twill 
be late enough.” 

“ But I’m not disguised yet, my boy, nor half.” 

“Well, they must take you au naturel, as they do your coun- 
trymen the potatoes.” 

“ Yes, doctor, Fred’s right ; we had better start.” 

“ Weil, I can’t help it ; I’ve recorded my opposition to the mo- 
tion, but I must submit; and now that I’m on my legs, explain to 
me what’s that very dull looking old lamp up there. 

“ That’s the moon, man ; the full moon.” 

“Well, I’ve no objection ; I’m full too ; so come along lads.” 


t 


99 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


CHAPTER XVIIL 

THE MASQUERADE. 

To form one’s impression of a masked ball from the attempts at 
this mode of entertainment in our country, is but to conceive a 
most imperfect and erroneous notion. With us the first coup d’^oeil 
is every thing ; the nuns, the shepherdesses, the Turks, sailors, 
eastern princes, watchmen, moonshees, mile stones, devils, and 
quakers, are all very well in their way as they pass in review be- 
fore us, but when we come to mix in the crowd, we discover that 
except the turban and the cowl, the crook and the broadbrim, no 
further disguise is attempted or thought of. The nun, forgetting 
her vow and her vestments, is flirting with the devil; the watch- 
man, a very fastidious elegant, is ogling the fish women through his 
glass, while the quaker is performing a pas-seul, Alberti might be 
proud of in a quadrille of riotous Turks and half-tipsy Hindoos ; in 
fact, the whole wit, of the scene consists in absurd associations; 
apart from this, the actors have rarely any claims upon your atten- 
tion ; for even supposing a person clever enough to sustain his cha- 
racter, whatever it be, you must also supply the other personages 
of the drama ; or, in stage phrase, he’ll have nothing to play up 
to.” What would be Bardolf without Pistol ? what Sir Lucius 
O’Trigger without Acres ? It is the relief which throws out the 
disparities and contradictions of life that affords us most amuse- 
ment ; hence it is, that one swallow can no more make a summer, 
than one well-sustaiiied character can give life to a masquerade. — 
Without such sympathies, such points of contact, all the leading 
features of the individual, making him act and be acted upon, arc 
lost ; the characters being mere parallel lines, which, however near 
they approach, never bisect or cross each other. 

This is not the case abroad ; the domino, which serves for mere 
concealment, is almost the only dress assumed, and the real disguise 
is therefore thrown from necessity upon the talents, whatever they 
be, of the wearer. It is no longer a question of a beard or a span- 
gled mantle, a Polish dress or a pasteboard nose ; the mutation of 
voice, the assumption of a different manner ; walk, gesture, and 
mode of expression, are all necessary, and no small tact is required 
to effect this successfully. 

I maybe pardoned this little digression, as it serves to explain in 
some measure how I felt on entering the splendidly lit up salons 
of the villa, crowded with hundreds of figures in all the varied cos- 
tumes of a carnival. The sounds of laughter, mingled with the 


100 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


crash of the music ; the hurrying hither and thither of servants with 
refreshments; the crowds gathered around fortune-tellers, whose 
predictions threw the parties at each moment into shouts of merri- 
ment ; the eager following of some disappointed domino, interro- 
gating every one to find out a lost mask. For some time I stood 
an astonished spectator at the kind of secret intelligence which 
seemed to pervade the whole assemblage, when suddenly a mask, 
who for some time had been standing beside me, whispered in 
French, — 

“ If you pass your time in this manner, you must not feel sur- 
prised if your place be occupied.’’ 

I turned hastily around but she was gone. She, I say, for the 
voice was clearly a woman’s; her pink domino could be no guide, 
for hundreds of the same colour passed me every instant ; the 
meaning of the allusion I had little doubt of. I turned to speak 
to Power but he was gone, and for the first moment of my life the 
bitterness of rivalry crossed my mind. It was true I had re- 
signed all pretensions in his favour ; my last meeting with Lucy 
had been merely to justify my own character against an impression 
that weighed heavily on me ; still I thought he might have waited, 
another day and I should be far away, neither to witness nor 
grieve over his successes. 

“ You still hesitate,” whispered some one near me. 

I wheeled round suddenly but could not detect the speaker, and 
was again relapsing into my own musings, when the same voice 
repeated, — 

The white domino with the blue cape. Adieu.’ 

Without waiting to reflect upon the singularity of the occurrence, 
I now hurried along through the dense crowd, searching on every 
side for the domino. 

“ Isn’t that O’Malley ?” said an Englishman to his friend. 

‘‘Yes,” replied the other, “the very man we want. O’Malley, 
find a partner; we have been searching a vis-a-vis this ten 
minutes.” The speaker was an officer I had met at Sir George 
Dashwood’s. 

“ How did you discover me ?” said I suddenly. 

“Not a very difficult thing, if you carry your mask in your 
hand that way,” was the answer. 

And I now perceived, that in the distraction of my thoughts I 
had been carrying my mask in this manner since my coming into 
the room. 

“There now, what say you to the blue domino. I saw her 
foot, and a girl with such an instep must be a waltzer.” 

I looked round, a confused effort at memory passing across my 
mind ; my eyes fell at the instant upon the embroidered sleeve of 
the domino, where a rosebud worked in silver at once reminded 
me of Catrina’s secret. Ah ! thought I, La Senhora herself. She 
was leaning upon the arm of a tall and portly figure in black ; who 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


101 


this was I knew not, nor sought to discover, hut at once advancing 
towards Donna Inez asked her to waltz. 

Without replying to me she turned towards her companion, who 
seemed as it were to press her acceptance of my offer ; she hesi- 
tated, however, for an instant, and curtseying deeply, declined it. 
Well, thought I, she at least has not recognised me. 

And yet, senhora,^’ said I, half jestingly, “ I have seen you 
join a bolero before now.” 

You evidently mistake me,” was the reply, but in a voice so 
well feigned as almost to convince me she was right. 

“ Nay, more,” said I, “ under your own fair auspices did I my- 
self first adventure one.” 

Still in error, believe me ; I am not known to you.” 

And yet I have a talisman to refresh your memory, should you 
dare me further.” 

At this instant my hand was grasped warmly by a passing mask. 
I turned round rapidly, and Power whispered in my ear, 

“ Yours for ever, Charley ; you’ve made my fortune.” 

As he hurried on I could perceive that he supported a lady on 
his arm, and that she wore a loose white domino with a deep blue 
cape. In a second all thought of Inez was forgotten, and anxious 
only to conceal my emotion, I turned away and mingled in the 
crowd. Lost to all around me I wandered carelessly, heedlessly 
on, neither noticing the glittering throng around, nor feeling a 
thought in common with the gay and joyous spirits that flitted by. 
The night wore on, my melancholy and depression growing ever 
deeper, yet so spell-bound was I that I could not leave the place. 
A secret sense that it was the last time we were to meet had gained 
entire possession of me, and I longed to speak a few words ere we 
parted for ever. 

I was leaning at a window which looked out upon the court- 
yard, when suddenly the tramp of horses attracted my attention, 
and I saw by the clear moonlight a group of mounted men whose 
long cloaks and tall helmets announced dragoons, standing around 
the porch. At the same moment the door of the salon opened, 
and an officer in undress, splashed and travel-stained, entered. 
Making his way rapidly through the crowd, he followed the ser- 
vant, who introduced him towards the supper-room. Thither the 
dense mass now pressed to learn the meaning of the singular ap- 
parition. While my own curiosity, not less excited, led me towards 
the door ; as I crossed the hall, however, my progress was inter- 
rupted by a group of persons, among whom I saw an aid-de-camp 
of Lord Wellington’s staff, narrating, as it were, some piece of 
newly arrived intelligence. I had no time for fiirther inquiry, 
when a door opened near me, and Sir George Dashwood, accom- 
panied by several general officers, came forth. The officer I had 
first seen enter the ball-room along with them — every one was by 
this unmasked, and eagerly looking to hear what had occurred. 

I 2 


102 


CHARLES o’MALLEr, 


<< Then, Dasliwood, you’ll send an orderly at once to Lisbon ?” 
said an old general officer beside me. 

‘^This instant, my lord. Pll despatch an aid-de-camp. The 
troops shall be in marching order before noon. 0, here’s the man 
I want! O’Malley, come here. Mount your horse and dash into 
town. Send for Brotherton and M’ Gregor to quarters, and announce 
the news as quickly as possible.” 

But what am 1 to announce. Sir George ?” 

“That the French are in retreat. — Massena in retreat, my 
lad.” 

A tremendous cheer at this instant burst from the hundreds in the 
salon, who now heard the glorious tidings. Another cheer and 
another followed — ten thousand vivas rose amid the crash of the 
band, as it broke into a patriotic war chant. Such a scene of en- 
thusiasm and excitement I never witnessed. Some wept with joy. 
Others threw themselves into their friends’ arms. 

“ They’re all mad, every mother’s son of them,” said Maurice 
Quill, as he elbowed his way through the mass ; “ and here’s an 
old vestal won’t leave my arm. She has already embraced me 
three times, and we’ve finished a flask of Malaga between us.” 

“ Come, O’Malley, are you ready for the road ?” 

My horse was by this time standing saddled at the font. I 
sprung at once to the saddle, and, without waiting for a second 
order, set out for Lisbon. Ten minutes had scarce elapsed — the 
very shouts of joy of the delighted city were still ringing in my 
ears, when I was once again back at the villa. As I mounted the 
steps into the hall, a carriage drew up ; it was Sir George Dash- 
wood’s; he came forward — his daughter leaning upon his arm. 

“ Why, O’Malley, I thought you had gone.” 

“ I have returned. Sir George. Colonel Brotherton is in wait- 
ing, and the staff* also. I have received orders to set out for Bene- 
jos, where the I4th are stationed, and have merely delayed to say 
adieu.” 

“ Adieu, my dear boy, and God bless you,” said the warm- 
hearted old man, as he pressed my hand between both his. “ Lucy, 
here’s your old friend about to leave ; come and say good-bye.” 

. Miss Dashwood had stopped behind to adjust her shawl. I flew 
to her assistance. “ Adieu, Miss Dashwood, and forever,” said I, 
in a broken voice, as I took her hand in mine. “ This is not your 
domino,” said I, eagerly, as a blue silk one peeped from beneath 
her mantle; “and the sleeve, too—did you wear this?” She 
blushed slightly, and assented. 

“ I changed with the senhora, who wore mine all the evening.” 

“ And Power, then, was not your partner ?” 

“ I should think not — for I never danced.” 

“ Lucy, my love, are you ready ?” Come, be quick.” 

“ Good-bye, Mr. O’Malley, and au revoir ripest pas 

I drew her glove from her hand as she spoke, and, pressing my 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


103 


lips upoQ her fingers, placed her within the carriage. “ Adieu, 
and au rtvoir^^ said I ; the carriage turned away, and a white 
glove w^s all that remained to me of Lucy Dashwood. 

The carriage had turned the angle of the road, and its retiring 
sounds were growing gradually fainter, ere I recovered myself 
sufficiently to know where I stood. One absorbing thought alone 
possessed me. Lucy was not lost to me forever ; Power was not 
my rival in that quarter, — that was enough for me. I needed no 
more to nerve my arm and steel my heart. As I reflected thus, 
the long loud blast of a trumpet broke upon the silence of the 
night, and admonished me to depart. I hurried to my room to 
make my few preparations for the road, but Mike had already an- 
ticipated every thing here, and all was in readiness. 

But one thing now remained — to make my adieu to the sen- 
hora. With this intent I descended a narrow winding stair which 
led from my dressing-room, and opened by a little terrace upon the 
flower garden beside her apartments. 

As I crossed the gravelled alley, I could not but think of the last 
time I had been there. It was on the eve of departure for the 
Douro. I recalled the few and fleeting moments of our leave- 
taking, and a thought flashed upon me, — what, if she cared for 
me ! What, if, half in coquetry, half in reality, her heart was 
mixed up in those passages which daily association gives rise 
to ? 

I could not altogether acquit myself of all desire to make her 
believe me her admirer ; nay, more, with the indolent abandon of 
my country, I had fallen into a thousand little schemes to cheat 
the long hours away, which having no other object than the hap- 
piness of the moment, might yet color all her after life with sor- 
row. 

Let no one rashly pronounce me a coxcomb, vain and preten- 
tious, for all this. In my inmost heart I had no feeling of selfish- 
ness mingled with the consideration. It was from no sense of my 
own merits, no calculation of my own chances of success, that I 
thought thus. Fortunately at eighteen one’s heart is uncontami- 
nated with such an alloy of vanity. The first emotions of youth 
are pure and holy things, tempering our fiercer passions, and calm- 
ing the rude effervescence of our boyish spirit : and when we 
strive to please, and hope to win affection, we insensibly fashion 
ourselves to nobler and higher thoughts, catching from the source 
of our devotion a portion of that charm that idealizes daily life, 
and makes our path in it a glorious and a bright one. 

Who would not exchange all the triumph of his later days, the 
proudest moments of successful ambition, the richest trophies of 
hard won daring, for the short and vivid flash that first shot 
through his heart and told him he was loved. It is the opening 
consciousness of life, the first sense of poAver that makes of the 


104 


CHARLES O^MALLEY, 


mere boy a man ; a man in all his daring and his pride, and hence 
it is that in early life we feel ever prone to indulge those fancied 
attachments which elevate and raise us in our own esteem. Such 
was the frame of my mind as I entered the little boudoir, where 
once before I had ventured on a similar errand. 

As I closed the sash-door behind me, the gray dawn of break- 
ing day scarcely permitted my seeing any thing around me, and I 
felt my way towards the door of an adjoining room, where I sup- 
posed it was likely I should find the senhora. As I proceeded thus 
with cautious step and beating heart, I thought I heard a sound 
near me. I stopped and listened, and was about again to move 
on, when a half-stifled sob fell upon my ear. Slowly and silently 
guiding my steps towards the sounds, I reached a sofa, when my 
eyes growing by degrees more accustomed to the faint light, I 
could detect a figure which, at a glance, I recognized as Donna 
Inez. A cashmere shawl was loosely thrown around her, and her 
face was buried in her hands. As she lay, to all seeming still, and 
insensible before me, her beautiful hair fell heavily upon her back 
and across her arm, and her whole attitude denoted the very aban- 
donment to grief. A short convulsive shudder which slightly shook 
her frame alone gave evidence of life, except when a sob, barely 
audible in the death-like silence, escaped her. 

I knelt silently down beside her, and gently withdrawing her 
hand placed it within mine. A dreadful feeling of self condemna- 
tion shot through me as I felt the gentle pressure of her taper 
fingers, which rested without a struggle in my grasp. My tears 
fell hot and fast upon that pale hand, as I bent in sadness over it, 
unable to utter a word ; a rush of conflicting thoughts passed 
through my brain, and I knew not what to do. I now had no 
doubt upon my mind that she loved me, and that her present 
affliction was caused by my approaching departure. 

‘‘Dearest Inez,’^ I stammered out at length, as I pressed her 
hands to my lips ; “ dearest Inez,” — a faint sob and a slight pres- 
sure of her hand was the only reply, — “ I have come to say, good- 
by,” continued I, gaining a little courage as I spoke ; “ a long good- 
by, too, in all likelihood. You have heard that we are ordered 
away : there, don’t sob, dearest, and believe me, I had wished ere 
we parted to have spoken to you calmly and openly ; but alas ! I 
cannot : I scarcely know what I say.” 

“ You will not forget me ?” said she in a low voice, that sunk 
into my very heart. « You will not forget me ?” as she spoke her 
hand dropped heavily upon my shoulder, and her rich luxuriant 
hair fell upon my cheek. What a devil of a thing is proximity to 
a downy cheek and a black eyelash, more especially when they 
belong to one whom you are disposed to believe not indifferent to 
you. What I did at this precise moment there is no necessity for 
recording, even had not an adage interdicted such confessions, nor 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


105 


can I now remember what I said ; but I can well recollect how, 
gradually warming with my subject, I entered into a kind of half- 
declaration of attachment, intended .most honestly to be a mere 
expose of my own unworthiness to win her favour, and my resolu- 
tion to leave Lisbon and its neighbourhood for ever. 

Let not any one blame me rashly if he has not experienced the 
difficulty of my position. The impetus of love-making is like the 
ardour of a fox-hunt. You care little that the six bar gate before 
you is the boundary of another gentleman’s preserves, or the fence 
of his pleasure ground. You go slap along at a smashing pace, 
with your head up, and your hand low, clearing all before you. — 
The opposing difficulties to your progress giving half the zest, be- 
cause all the danger to your career. So it is with love; the 
gambling spirit urges one ever onward, and the chance of failure 
is a reason for pursuit, where no other argument exists. 

“ And do you love me ?” said the senhora, with a soft low whis- 
per that most unaccountably suggested any thing but comfort to 
me. 

“ Love you, Inez ? By this kiss Fm in an infernal scrape !” 

said I, muttering this last half of my sentence to myself. 

“ And you’ll never be jealous again ?” 

Never, by all that’s lovely — ^your own sweet lips. That’s the 
very last thing to reproach me with.” 

And you promise me not to mind that foolish boy ? For, after 
all, you know, it was mere flirtation, — if even that.” 

“ I’ll never think of him again,” said I, while my brain was 
burning to make out her meaning. << But, dearest, there goes the 
trumpet call ” 

And as for Pedro Mascarenhas, I never liked him.” 

Are you quite sure, Inez ?” 

‘‘ I swear it — so no more of him. Gonzales Cordenza — I’ve 
broke with him long since. So that you see, dearest Frederic.” 

Frederic,” said I, starting almost to my feet with amazement, 
while she continued, I’m your own, all your own.” 

Oh, the coquette, the heartless jilt,” groaned I, half aloud ; 
and O’Malley, Inez, poor Charley — what of him ?” 

Poor thing — I can’t help him— but he’s such a pnppy, the les- 
son may do him good.” 

But perhaps he loved you, Inez ?” 

To be sure he did : I wished him to do so — I can’t bear not to 
be loved— but, Frederic, tell me, may I trust you— w'ill you keep 
faithful to me ?” 

Sweetest Inez, by this last kiss I swear, that such as I kneel 
before you now, you’ll ever find me.” 

A foot upon the gravel walk without, now called me to my feet — 
I sprang towards the door, and before Inez had lifted her head from 
the sofa, I had reached the garden. A figure muffled in a cavalry 

14 


106 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


cloak passed near me, but without noticing me, and the next mo- 
ment I had cleared the paling, and was hurrying towards the stable 
where I had ordered Mike to be in waiting. 

The faint streak of dull pink which announces the coming day 
stretched beneath the dark clouds of the night, and the chill air of 
the morning was already stirring in the leaves. 

As I passed along by a low beech hedge which skirted the ave- 
nue, I was struck by the sound of voices near me. I stopped to 
listen, and soon detected in one of the speakers my friend Mickey 
Free ; of the other I was not long in ignorance. 

“ Love you, is it, — bathershin ? It’s worship you — adore you, 
my darling — that’s the word — there, acushla, don’t cry — dry your 
eyes — oh, murther it’s a cruel thing to tear oneself away from the 
best of living, with the run of the house in drink and kissing. Bad 
luck to it for campaigning, any way, I never liked it !” 

Catrina’s reply, — for it was she — I could not gather ; but Mike 
resumed — 

“ Ah, just so, sore bones and wet grass, accadent^, and half ra- 
tions. Oh, that I ever saw the day, when I took to it. Listen to 
me now, honey; here it is, on my knees I am before you, and 
throth it’s not more nor three, maybe four, young women I’d say 
the like to ; bad scram to me if I wouldn’t marry you out of a face 
this blessed morning just as soon as I’d look at ye' Arrah, 
there now, don’t be schreeching and bawling ; what’ll the neigh- 
bours think of us, and my own heart’s destroyed with grief en- 
tirely.” 

Poor Catrina’s voice returned an audible answer, and not wish- 
ing any longer to play the eavesdropper, I continued my path 
towards the stable. The distant noises from the city announced a 
state of movement and preparation, and more than one orderly 
passed the road near me at a gallop. As I turned into the wide 
court-yard, Mike, breathless and flurried with running, overtook 
me. 

Are the horses ready, Mike ?” said I ; we must start this in- 
stant.” 

“They’ve just finished a peck of oats a-piece, and faix that 
same may be a stranger to them this day six months.” 

“ And the baggage, too ?” 

“ On the cars, with the staff and the light brigade. It was down 
there I was now, to see all was right.” 

“ Oh, I’m quite aware ; and now bring out the cattle. I hope 
Catrina received your little consolations well. That seems a very 
sad affair.” 

“ Murder, real murder, devil a less. It’s no matter where you go, 
from Clonmel to Chayney, it’s all one ; they’ve a way of ’getting 
round you. Upon my soul it’s like the pigs they are.” 

“ Like pigs, Mike ? That appears a strange compliment you’ve 
selected to pay them.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


107 


Ay, just like the pigs, no less. Maybe you never heard what 
happened to myself up at Moronha !” 

“ Look to that girth there. Well, go on.’’ 

“ I was coming along one morning, just as the day was begin- 
ning to break, when I sees a slip of a pig trotting before me, with 
nobody near him ; but as the road was lonely, and myself rather 
down in the heart, I thought, musha ! but yer fine company any- 
how, av a body could only keep you with him. But, ye see, a pig 
— saving your presence — is a baste not easily flattered, so I didn’t 
waste time and blarney upon him, but I took off my belt, and put 
it round its neck as neat as need be ; but, as the devil’s luck would 
have it, I didn’t go half an hour when a horse came galloping up 
behind me. I turned round, and, by the blessed light it was Sir 
Dinney himself was in it !” 

Sir Dennis Pack ?” 

Yes, bad luck to his hook nose. ‘What are you doing there, 
my fine fellow ?’ says he. ‘ What’s that you have dragging there 
behind you ?’ 

“ ‘ A boneen, sir,’ says I ; ‘ isn’t he a fine crayture ? — av he 
wasn’t so troublesome.’ 

“ ‘ Troublesome, troublesome — what do you mean ?’ 

“ ‘ Just so,” says I, ‘ isn’t he parsecuting the life out of me the 
whole morning, following me about everywhere I go ? Contrary 
bastes they always was.’ 

“ I advise you to try and part company, my friend, notwith- 
standing,’ says he ; ‘or maybe it’s the same end you’ll be coming 
to, and not long either. And faix, I took his advice ; and ye see, 
Misther Charles, it’s just as I was saying, they’re like the women, 
the least thing in life is enough to bring them after us, av ye only 
put the ‘ comether^ upon them.” 

“ And now adieu to the Villa Nuova,” said I, as I rode slowly 
down the avenue, turning ever and anon in my saddle to look back 
on each well-known spot. 

A heavy sigh from Mike responded to my wo^ds. 

“ A long, a last farewell,” said I, waving my hand towards the 
trelliced‘ walls now half hidden by the trees, and as I spoke, that 
heaviness of the heart came over me that seems inseparable from 
leave-taking. The hour of parting seems like a warning to us, 
that all our enjoyments and pleasures here are destined to a short 
and merely fleeting existence ; and, as each scene of life passes 
away never to return, we are made to feel that youth and hope 
are passing with them ; and that, although the fair world be 
as bright and its pleasures as rich in abundance, our capacity 
of enjoyment is daily, hourly diminishing, and while all around 
us smiles in beauty and happiness, that we, alas, are not what we 
were. 

Such was the tenor of my thoughts as I reached the road, when 
they were suddenly interrupted by my man Mike, whose medita- 


108 


CHARLES o’mALLEY. 


tions were following a somewhat similar channel, though at last 
inclining to different conclusions. He coughed a couple of times 
as if to attract my attention, and then, as it were half thinking 
aloud, he muttered — 

I wonder if we treated the young ladies well, any how. Mister 
Charles, for faix I’ve my doubts on it.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


109 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE LINES. 

When we reached Lescas, we found that an officer of Lord 
Wellington’s staff had just arrived from the lines, and was oc- 
cupied in making known the general order from head-quarters; 
which set forth, with customary brevity, that the French armies, 
under the command of Massena, had retired from their position, 
and were in full retreat ; the second and third corps, which had 
been stationed at Villa Franca, having marched during the night 
of the fifteenth in the direction of Manal. The officers in com- 
mand of divisions were ordered to repair instantly to Pero Negro, 
to consult upon a forward movement. Admiral Berkley being written 
to, to provide launches to pass over General Hill’s, or any other 
corps which might be selected, to the left bank of the Tagus. All 
was now excitement, heightened by the unexpected nature of an 
occurrence, which not even speculation had calculated upon. It 
was but a few days before, and the news had reached Torres 
Vedras, that a powerful re-enforcement was in march to join 
Massena’s army, and their advanced guard had actually reached 
Santarem. The confident expectation was, therefore, that an at- 
tack upon the lines was meditated. Now, however, this prospect 
existed no longer ; for scarcely had the heavy mists of the lower- 
ing day disappeared, when the vast plain, so lately peopled by the 
thickened ranks and dark masses of a great army, was seen in its 
whole extent deserted and untenanted. 

The smouldering fires of the pickets alone, marked where the 
troops were posted, but not a man of that immense force was to be 
seen. General Fane, who had been despatched with a brigade of 
Portuguese cavalry and some artillery, hung upon the rear of the 
retiring army, and from him we learned that the enemy were con- 
tinuing their retreat northward, having occupied Santarem with a 
strong force to cover the movement. Crawford was ordered to the 
front with the light division, the whole army following in the same 
direction, except Hill’s corps, which, crossing the river at Velada, 
was intended to harass the enemy’s flank, and assist our future 
operations. 

Such, in brief, was the state of affairs when I reached Villa 
Franca toward noon, and received orders to join my regiment, then 
forming part of Sir Stapleton Cotton’s brigade. 

It must be felt, to be thoroughly appreciated, the enthusiastic 
pleasure with which one greets his old corps after some months of 


110 


CHARLES O^MALLEr, 


separation — the bounding ecstasy with which the eye rests on the 
old familiar faces, dear by every association of atfection and bro- 
therhood ; the anxious look for this one and for that — the thrill of 
delight sent through the heart as the well-remembered march 
swells upon the ear ; the very notes of that rough voice, which we 
had heard amid the crash of battle and the rolling of artillery, 
speaks softly to our senses, like a father’s welcome : from the well 
tattered flag that waves above us, to the proud steed of the war- 
worn trumpeter, each has a niche in our affection. 

If ever there was a corps calculated to increase and foster these 
sentiments, the Fourteenth Light Dragoons was such. The warm 
affection, the truly heart-felt regard, which existed amotig my 
brother offlcers, made our mess a happy home. Our veteran 
colonel, grown gray in campaigning, was like a father to us ; while 
the senior officers, tempering the warm blood of impetuous youth 
with their hard-won experience, threw a charm of peace and tran- 
quillity over all our intercourse, that made us happy when together, 
and taught us to feel that, whether seated around the watch-fire, or 
charging amid the squadrons of the enemy, we were surrounded 
by those, devoted heart and soul to aid us. 

Gallant Fourteenth ! — ever first in every gay scheme of youthful 
jollity, as foremost in the van to meet the foe — how happy am I to 
recall the memory of your bright looks and bold hearts ! of your 
manly daring, and your bold, frankness — of your merry voices, as 
I have heard them in the battle or in the bivouac ! Alas, and alas ! 
that I should indulge such recollections alone ! how few — how 
very few — are left of those with whom I trod the early steps of 
life ! whose bold career I have heard above the clashing sabres 
of the enemy — whose broken voice I have listened to above the 
grave of a comrade. The dark pines of the Pyrenees wave above 
some ; the burning sands of India cover others ; and the wide plains 
of Salamanca are now your abiding place. 

Here comes O’Malley !” shouted out a well-known voice as I 
rode down the little slope, at the foot of which a group of officers 
were standing beside their horses. 

“ Welcome, thou man of Galway !” cried Hampden ; ‘^delighted 
to have you once more among us. How confoundedly well the 
fellow is looking !” 

Lisbon beef seems better prog than commissariat biscuit !” 
said another. 

‘‘A’ weel, Charlie?” said my friend, the Scotch doctor; '‘how’s 
a’ wi’ ye, man ? Ye seem to thrive on your mishaps ! How 
cam’ ye by that braw beastie ye ’re mounted on ?” 

" A present, doctor ; the gift of a very warm friend.” 

" I hope you invited him to the mess, O’Malley ! For, by Jove, 
our stables stand in need of his kind offices ! There he goes ! Look 
at him ! What a slashing pace for a heavy fellow !” This obser- 
vation was made with reference to a well known officer of the 


0 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


Ill 


commander-iii-chiers staff, whose weight — some eight-and-twenty 
stone — never was any impediment to his bold riding. 

‘‘Egad, O’Malley, you’ll soon be as pretty a light weight as our 
friend yonder. Ah ! there’s a storm going on there ! Here comes 
the colonel !” 

“ Well, O’Malley, are you come back to us ? Happy to see you, 
boy !— hope we shall not lose you again in a hurry ! — We can’t 
spare the scapegraces ! — There’s plenty of skirmishing going on ! — 
Crawford always asks for the scapegraces for the pickets !” 

I shook my gallant colonel’s hand, while I acknowledged, as 
best I might, his ambiguous compliment. 

“ I say, lads,” resumed the colonel ; “ squad your men and form 
on the road ! Lord Wellington’s coming down this way to have 
a look at you ! O’Malley, I have General Crawford’s orders to 
offer you your old appointment on his staff; without you prefer 
remaining with the regiment !” 

“ I can never be sufficiently grateful, sir, to the general ; but, in 
fact — I think — that is, I believe” — 

“ You’d rather be among your own fellows. Out with it, boy ! 
I like you all the better ! but come, we must not let the general 
know that; so that I shall forget to tell you all about it. Eh! 
isn’t that best? But join your troop now; I hear the staff coming 
this way.” 

As he spoke, a crowd of horsemen were seen advancing toward 
us at a sharp trot ; their waving plumes and gorgeous aiguilettes 
denoting their rank as generals of division. In the midst, as they 
came nearer, I could distinguish one whom, once seen, there was 
no forgetting ; his plain blue frock and gray trowsers unstrapped 
beneath his boots, not a little unlike the trim accuracy of the cos- 
tume around him. As he rode to the head of the leading squad- 
ron, the staff fell back and he stood alone before us : for a second 
there was a dead silence, but the next instant — by what impulse 
tell who can — one tremendous cheer burst from the entire regi- 
ment. It was like the act of one man; so sudden, so spontaneous. 
While every cheek glowed, and every eye sparkled with enthu- 
siasm, he alone seemed cool and unexcited, as, gently raising his 
hand, he motioned them to silence. 

“ Fourteenth, you are to be where you always desire to be — in 
the advanced guard of the army. I have nothing to say on the 
subject of your conduct in the field, I know you ; but if, in pur- 
suit of the enemy, I hear of any misconduct toward the people of 
the country, or any transgression of the general orders regarding 
pillage, by G — , I’ll punish you as severely as the worst corps in 
service, and you know me.” 

“ Oh, tear and ages, listen to that ; and there’s to be no plunder 
after all,” said Mickey Free, and for an instant the most I could 
do was not to burst into a fit of laughter. The word “ Forward,” 
was given at the moment, and we moved past in close column, 


112 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


while that penetrating eye which seemed to read our very thoughts 
scanned us from one end of the line to the other. 

“ I say, Charley,’’ said the captain of my troop in a whisper, I 
say, that confounded cheer we gave got us that lesson ; he can’t 
stand that kind of thing.” 

“ By Jove, I never felt more disposed than to repeat it,” said I. 

“ No, no, my boy, we’ll give him the honours, nine times nine ; 
but wait till evening. Look at old Merivale there. I’ll swear 
he’s saying something very civil to him. Do you see the old fel- 
low’s happy look ?” 

And so it was ; the bronzed, hard-cast features of the veteran 
soldier were softened into an expression of almost boyish delight, 
as he sat bareheaded, bowing to his very saddle, while Lord Wel- 
lington was speaking. 

As I looked, my heart throbbed painfully against my side, my 
breath came quick, and 1 muttered to myself, ‘‘ What would I not 
give to be in his place now !” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


US 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE RETREAT OF THE FRENCH. 

It is not my intention, were I even adequate to the task, to 
trace with any thing like accuracy the events of the war at this 
period. In fact, to those who, like myself, were performing a mere 
subaltern character, the daily movements of our own troops, not 
to speak of the continual changes of the enemy, were perfectly 
unknown, and an English newspaper was more ardently longed 
for in the Peninsula, than by the most eager crowd of a London 
coffee-room ; nay, the results of the very engagements we were 
ourselves concerned in, more than once, first reached us through 
the press of our own country. It is easy enough to understand 
this. The officer in command of a regiment, and, how much 
more, the captain of a troop, or the subaltern under him, knows 
nothing beyond the sphere of his own immediate duty; by the suc- 
cess or failure of his own party his knowledge is bounded; but how 
far he or his may influence the fortune of the day, or of what is 
taking place elsewhere, he is totally ignorant; and an old Fourteenth 
man did not badly explain his ideas on the matter, who described 
Busaco as a great noise and great smoke ; booming artillery ana 
rattling small arms; infernal confusion, and to all seeming incessant 
blundering ; orders and counter-orders, ending with a crushing 
charge, when, not being hurt himself nor Laving hurt anybody, 
he felt much pleased to learn that they had gained a victory.’’ It 
is then sufficient for all the purposes of my narrative, when I men- 
tion that Massena continued his retreat by Santarem and Thomar, 
followed by the allied army, who, however desirous of pressing 
upon the rear of their enemy, were still obliged to maintain their 
communication with the lines, and also to watch the movement of 
the large armies, which, under Ney and Soult, threatened at any 
unguarded moment to attack them in flank. 

The position which Massena occupied at Santarem, naturally 
one of great strength, and further improved by intrenchments, 
defied any attack on the part of Lord Wellington, until the arrival 
of the long expected reinforcements from England. These had 
sailed in the early part of January, but, delayed by adverse 
winds, only reached Lisbon on the second of March, and so 
correctly was the French marshal apprized of the circumstance, 
and so accurately did he anticipate the probable result, that on the 
fourth he broke up his encampment, and recommenced his retro- 
grade rqovement, with an army now reduced to forty thousand 
fighting men, and with two thousand sick; destroying all his 

VoL. II.— 15 K 2 


114 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


baggage and guns that could not be horsed. By a demonstration 
of advancing upon the Zezese, by which he held the allies in 
check, he succeeded in passing his wounded to the rear, while 
Ney, appearing with a large force suddenly at Leiria, seemed 
bent upon attacking the lines: by these stratagems two days’ 
march were gained, and the French retreated upon Torres, Noves, 
and Thomar, destroying the bridges behind them as they 
passed. 

The day was breaking on the 12th of March, when the British 
first came in sight of the retiring enemy. We were then ordered 
to thb front, and, broken up into small parties, threw out as skir- 
mishers. The French chasseurs, usually not indisposed to accept 
this species of encounter, showed now less of inclination than 
usual, and either retreated before us, or hovered in masses to check 
our advance ; in this way the morning was passed, when towards 
noon we perceived that the enemy were drawing up in battle 
array, occupying the height above the village of Redinha. This 
little straggling village is situated in a hollow traversed by a narrow 
causeway, which opens by a long and dangerous defile upon a 
bridge ; on either side of which a dense wood atforded a shelter 
for light troops, while upon the commanding eminence above, a 
battery of heavy guns was seen in position. 

In front of the village a brigade of artillery and a division of 
infantry were drawn up so skilfully as to give the appearance of a 
considerable force ; so that when Lord Wellington came up, he 
spent some time ill examining the enemy’s position. Erskine’s 
brigade was immediately ordered up, and the fifty-second and 
ninety-fourth, and a company of the forty-third were led against 
the wooded slopes upon the French right. Picton simultaneously 
attacked the left, and in less than an hour both were successful, 
and Ney’s position was laid bare ; his skirmishers, however, 
continued to hold their ground in front, and La Ferriere, a colonel 
of hussars, dashing boldly forward at this very moment, carried 
off fourteen prisoners from the very front of our line. Deceived 
by the confidence of the enemy, Lord Wellington now prepared 
for an attack in force. The infantry were therefore formed into 
line, and, at the signal of three shots fired from the centre, began 
their foremost movement. 

Bending up a gentle curve, the whole plain glistened with the 
glancing bayonets, and the troops marched majestically onward; 
while the light artillery and the cavalry bounding forward from 
the left and centre, rushed eagerly toward the foe. One deafening 
discharge from the French guns opened at the moment, with a 
general volley of small arms. The smoke for an instant obscured 
every thing ; and when that cleared away, no enemy was to be 
seen. 

The British pressed madly on, like heated blood-hounds; but 
when they descended the slope, the village of Redinha was in 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


115 


flames, and the French in full retreat beyond it ; a single howitzer 
seemed our only trophy, and even this we were not destined to 
boast of, for from the midst of the crashing flame and dense smoke 
of the burning village, a troop of dragoons rushed forward, and, 
charging our infantry, carried it ofl*. The struggle, though but for 
a moment, cost them dear : twenty of their comrades lay dead 
upon the spot ; but they were resolute and determined, and the 
officer who led them on, fighting hand to hand with a soldier of 
the forty-second, cheered them as they retired. His gallant bear- 
ing, and his coat covered with decorations, bespoke him one of 
note, and well it might : he who thus perilled his life to maintain 
the courage of his soldiers at the commencement of a retreat, Avas 
no other than Ney himself, leplus brave des braves. The British 
pressed hotly on, and the light troops crossed the river almost at 
the same time with the French. Ney, however, fell back upon 
Condeixa, where his main body was posted, and all further pursuit 
Avas for the present abandoned. 

At Casa Noval and at Foz d’Aronce, the allies were successful : 
but the French still continued to retire, burning the towns and 
villages in their rear, and devastating the country along the Avhole 
line of march by every expedient of cruelty the heart of man has 
ever conceived. In the words of one whose descriptions, however 
fraught with the most wonderful power of painting, are equallj" 
marked by truth — Every horror that could make war hideous 
attended this dreadful march. Distress, conflagration, death in all 
modes — from wounds, from fatigue, from water, from the flames, 
from starvation — vengeance, unlimited vengeance — was on every 
side.’’ The country was a desert. 

Such was the exhaustion of the allies, Avho suffered even greater 
privations than the enemy, that they halted upon the 16 th, unable 
to proceed further,, and the river Ceira, swollen and unfordable, 
flowed between the rival armies. 

The repose of even one day was a most grateful interruption to 
the harassing career we had pursued for some time past ; and it 
seemed that my comrades felt, like myself, that such an opportunity 
was by no means to be neglected ; but, while I am devoting so 
much space, and trespassing on my readers’ patience, thus far with 
narrative of flood and field, let me steal a chapter for what will 
sometimes seem a scarcely less congenial topic, and bring back the 
recollection of a glorious night in the peninsula. 


116 


CHARLES o’MALLEY, 


CHAPTER XXL 
Patrick’s day in the peninsula. 

The reveillee had not yet sounded, when I felt my shoulder 
shaken gently as I lay wrapped in my cloak beneath a prickly 
pear tree. 

Lieutenant O’Malley, sir ; a letter, sir ; a bit of a note, your 
honour,” said a voice that bespoke the bearer and myself were 
countrymen. I opened it, and with difficulty by the uncertain 
light read as follows : 

Dear Charley, 

As Lord Wellington, like a good Irishman as he is, wouldn’t 
spoil Patrick’s day by marching, we’ve got a little dinner at our 
quarters to celebrate the holy times, as my uncle would call it. 
Maurice, Phil Grady, and some regular trumps will all come ; so 
don’t disappoint us. I’ve been making punch all night, and Ca- 
sey, who has a knack at pastry, has a goose-pie as big as a port- 
manteau. Sharp seven, after parade. The second battalion of 
the fusileers are quartered at Melante, and we are next them. 
Bring any of yours worth their liquor. Power is, I know, absent 
with the staff ; perhaps the Scotch doctor would come — try him. 
Carry over a little mustard with you, if there be such in your 
parts. Yours, 

D. O’Shaughnessy.” 

“ Patrick’s Day, and raining like blazes.” 

Seeing that the bearer expected an answer, I scrawled the words 
I’m there” with my pencil on the back of the note, and again 
turned myself round to sleep. My slumbers were, however, soon 
interrupted once more ; for the bugles of the light infantry and the 
hoarse trumpet of the cavalry sounded the call, and I found to my 
surprise that, though halted, we were by no means destined to a 
day of idleness. Dragoons were already mounted carrying orders 
hither and thither, and staff-officers were galloping right and left. 
A general order commanded an inspection of the troops, and 
within less than an hour from daybreak the whole army was 
drawn up under arms. A thin drizzling rain continued to fall 
during the early part of the day, but the sun gradually dispelled 
the heavy vapour; and, as the bright verdure glittered in its 
beams, sending up all the perfumes of a southern clime, I thought 
I had never seen a more lovely morning. The staff was stationed 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


117 


upon a little knoll beside the river, round the base of which the 
troops defiled, at first in orderly, then in quick time, the bands 
playing, and the colours flying. In the same brigade with us the 
eighty-eighth came, and, as they neared the commander-in-chief, 
their quick step was suddenly stopped, and, after a pause of a few 
seconds, the band struck up St. Patrick’s Day the notes were 
caught up by the other Irish regiments, and, amid one prolonged 
cheer from the whole line, the gallant fellows moved past. 

The grenadier company were drawn up beside the road, and I 
was not long in detecting my friend O’Shaughnessy, who wore a 
tremendous shamrock in his shako. Left face, wheel ! quick, 
march ! don’t forget the mustard !” said the bold major, and a 
loud roar of laughing from my brother officers followed him off the 
ground. I soon explained the injunction, and, having invited some 
three or four to accompany me to the dinner, waited with all pa- 
tience for the conclusion of the parade. 

The sun was setting as I mounted, and, joined by Hampden, 
Baker, the Doctor, and another, set out for O’Shaughnessy’s quar- 
ters. As we rode along, we were continually falling in with others 
bent upon the same errand as ourselves, and ere we arrived at 
Melante, our party was some thirty strong; and truly a most 
extraordinary procession did we form ; few of the invited came 
without some contribution to the general stock ; and, while a staff 
officer flourished a ham, a smart hussar might be seen with a 
plucked turkey, trussed for roasting ; most carried bottles, as the 
consumption of fluid was likely to be considerable ; and one fat 
old major jogged along on a broken-winded pony, with a basket 
of potatoes on his arm. Good fellowship was the order of the 
day, and certainly a more jovial squadron seldom was met together 
than ours. As we turned the angle of a rising ground, a hearty 
cheer greeted us, and we beheld in front of an old ordnance 
marquee a party of some fifty fellows engaged in all the pleasing 
duties of the cuisine. Maurice, conspicuous above all, with a 
white apron and a ladle in his hand, was running hither and 
thither, advising, admonishing, instructing, and occasionally imprc - 
eating : ceasing for a second his functions, he gave us a cheer and 
a yell like that of an Indian savage, and then resumed his duties 
beside a huge boiler, which, from the frequency. of his explorations 
into its contents, we judged to be punch. 

Charley, my son. I’ve a place for you ; don’t forget. Where’s 
my learned brother ? — havn’t you brought him with you ? Ah, 
Doctor, how goes it ?” 

“Nae that bad. Master Quell: a’ things considered, we’ve had 
an awfu’ time of it lately.” 

You know my friend Hampden, Maurice. Let me introduce 
Mr.' Baker — Mr. Maurice Quill. Where’s the major?” 

Here I am, my darling, and delighted to see you. Some ot 
yours, O’Malley, ain’t they? proud to have you, gentlemen. 


IIS 


CHARLES O^MALLEY, 


Charley, we are obliged to have several tables; but you are to 
be beside Maurice, so take your friends with you. There goes 
the roast beef : my heart warms to that old tune.’’ 

Amid a hurried recognition and shakings of hands on every 
side, I elbowed my way into the tent, and soon reached a corner, 
where, at a table for eight, I found Maurice seated at one end ; 
a huge purple-faced major, whom he presented to us as Bob Ma- 
hon, occupied the other. O’Shaughnessy presided at the table 
next us, but near enough to join in all the conviviality of ours. 

One must have lived for some months upon hard biscuits and 
harder beef to relish as we did the fare before us, and to form an 
estimate of our satisfaction. If the reader cannot fancy Van Am- 
burgh’s lions in red coats and epaulets, he must be content to lose 
the effect of the picture. A turkey rarely fed more than two peo- 
ple, and few were abstemious enough to be satisfied with one 
chicken. The order of the viands, too, observed no common 
routine, each party being happy to get what he could, and satisfied 
to follow up his pudding with fish, or his tart with a sausage. 
Sherry, champagne, London porter, Malaga, and even, I believe, 
Harvey’s sauce, were hob-nobbed in ; while hot punch, in teacups 
or tin vessels, was unsparingly distributed on all sides. Achilles 
himself, they say, got tired of eating, and though he consumed 
something like a prize ox to his own cheek, he at length had to 
call for cheese; so that we at last gave in, and having cleared away 
the broken tumbrels and baggage-carts of our army, cleared for a 
general action. 

Now, lads !” cried the major, I’m not going to lose your time 
and mine, by speaking, but there is a couple of toasts I must insist 
upon your drinking with all the honours ; and, as I like despatch, 
we’ll couple them. It so happens, that our old island boasts of two 
of the finest fellows that ever wore Russia ducks. None of your 
nonsensical geniuses, like poets, or painters, or any thing like that ; 
but downright, straight-forward, no-humbug sort of devil-may-care 
and bad-luck-to-you kind of chaps — real Irishmen ! Now it’s a 
strange thing that they both had such an antipathy to vermin, they 
spent their life in hunting them down and destroying them ; and 
whether they met toads at home, or Johnny Crapauds abroad, it 
was all one. (Cheers.) Just so, boys ; they made them leave that ; 
but I see you are impatient, so I’ll not delay you, but fill to the brim, 
and, with the best cheer in your body, drink with me the two 
greatest Irishmen that ever lived, ^ St. Patrick and Lord Wel- 
lington.’ ” 

The Englishmen laughed long and loud, while we cheered with 
an energy that satisfied even the major. 

“Who is to give us the chant? Who is to sing St. Patrick?” 
cried Maurice. “ Come, Bob, out with it.” 

“ I’m four tumblers too low for that yet,” growled out the 
major. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


119 


^‘Well, then, Charley, be you the man; or why not Dennis him- 
self? Come, Dennis, we cannot better begin our evening than with 
a song; let us have our old friend, Larry M^Hale. 

Larry M^Hale,” resounded from all parts of the room, while 
O’Shaughnessy rose once more to his legs. 

Faith, boys. Pm always ready to follow your lead, but what 
analogy can exist between Larry M‘Hale and the toast we have 
just drunk I can’t see, for the life of me ; not but Larry would 
have made a strapping light company man had he joined the 
army.” 

The song, the song !” cried several voices. 

“ Well, if you will have it, here goes.” ’ 


LARRY M‘HALE. 


Air — It's a hit of a thing, Sfc, 


“ 0 ! Larry M‘Hale he had little to fear, 

And never could want when the crops didn’t fail, 

He’d a house and demesne, and eight hundred a year, 
And a heart for to spend it had Larry M‘Hale ! 

The soul of a party, — the life of a feast. 

An illigant song he could sing, I’ll be bail ; 

He would ride with the rector, and drink with the priest, 
0 ! the broth of a boy was old Larry M‘Hale. ^ 

II. 

“ Its little he cared for the judge or recorder 

His house was as big and as strong as a jail ; 

With a cruel four-pounder, he kept all in great order, 
He’d murder the country, would Larry M‘Hale. 

He’d a blunderbuss, too ; of horse-pistols a pair ; 

But his favourite weapon was always a flail; 

I wish you could see how he’d empty a fair. 

For he handled it neatly, did Larry M‘Hale. 


III. 

His ancestors were kings, before Moses was bom 
His mother descended from great Grana Uaile : 

He laughed all the Blakes and the Frenchs to scorn ; 

They were mushrooms compared to old Larry M‘Hale. 
He sat down every day to a beautiful dinner. 

With cousins and uncles enough for a tail; 

And, though loaded with debt, 0 ! the devil a thinner 
Could law, or the sheriff, make Larry M‘Hale. 


120 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


IV. 

With a larder supplied, and a cellar well stored, 

None lived half so well, from Fair-Head to Kinsale, 

As he piously said, ‘ I’ve a plentiful board. 

And the Lord he is good to old Larry M‘Hale.* 

So fill up your glass, and a high bumper give him ; 

It’s little we’d care for the tithes or repale ; 

For ould Erin would be a fine country to live in. 

If we only had plenty, like Larky M‘Hale.” 

Very singular style of person, your friend, Mr. M‘Hale,” lisped 
a spoony-looking cornet at the end of the table. 

Not in the country he belongs to, I assure you,” said Maurice; 

but I presume you were never in Ireland.” 

“You are mistaken there,” resumed the other; “I was in Ire- 
land, though I confess not for a long time.” 

“ If I might be so bold,” cried Maurice, “how long?” 

“ Half an hour, by a stop watch,” said the other, pulling up his 
stock ; “ and I had quite enough of it in that time.” 

“ Pray give us your experiences,” cried out Bob Mahon: “they 
should be interesting, considering your opportunities.” 

“ You are right,” said the cornet ; “they were so ; and, as they 
illustrate a feature in your amiable country, you shall have 
them.” 

A general knocking upon the table announced the impatience 
of the company, and when silence was restored, the cornet 
began-: 

“When the Bermuda transport sailed from Portsmouth for 
Lisbon, I happened to make one of some four hundred interesting 
individuals, who, before they became food for powder, were 
destined to try their constitutions on pickled pork. The second 
day after our sailing, the winds became adverse ; it blew a hurri- 
cane from every corner of the compass but the one*it ought, and 
the good ship, that should have been standing straight for the Bay 
of Biscay, was scudding away, under a double-reefed topsail, to 
ward the coast of Labrador. For six days we experienced every 
sea-manosuvre that usually precludes a shipwreck ; and, at length 
when, from sea-sickness and fear, we had become utterly indifferent 
to the result, the storm abated, the sea went down, and we found 
ourselves lying comfortably in the harbour of Cork, with a strange 
suspicion on our minds that the frightful scenes of the past week 
had been nothing but a dream. 

“ ‘ Come, Mr. Medlicot,’ said the skipper to me, ‘ we shall be 
here for a couple of days to refit; had you not better go ashore and 
see the country?” 

“ I sprang to my legs with delight ; visions of cowslips, larks, 
daisies, and mutton-chops floated before my excited imagination, 
and in ten minutes I found myself standing at that pleasant little 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


121 


inn at Cove which, opposite Spike Island, rejoices in the name of 
the Goat and Garters. 

“ ‘Breakfast, waiter,’ said I; ‘a beefsteak — fresh beef, mark ye; 
fresh eggs, bread, milk, and butter, all fresh.’ No more hard tack, 
thought I, no salt butter, but a genuine land breakfast. 

“ ‘ Up stairs. No. 4, sir,’ said the waiter, as he flourished a dirty 
napkin, indicating the way. 

“ Up stairs I went, and in due time the appetizing little dejeuner 
made its appearance. Never did a minor’s eye revel over his 
broad acres with more complacent enjoyment, than did mine skim 
over the mutton and the muffin, the teapot, the trout, and the 
devilled kidney, so invitingly spread out before me. Yes, thought 
I, as I smacked my lips, this is the reward of virtue ; pickled pork 
is the probationary state that admirably fits us for future enjoy- 
ments. I arranged my napkin upon my knee, seized my knife 
and fork, and proceeded, with most critical acumen, to bisect a 
beefsteak. Scarcely, however, had I touched it, when, with a loud 
crash, the plate smashed beneath it, and the gravy ran piteously 
across the cloth. Before I had time to account for the phenome- 
non, the door opened hastily, and the waiter rushed into the room, 
his face beaming with smiles, while he rubbed his hands in an 
ecstasy of delight. 

“ ‘ It’s all over, sir,’ said he, ‘ glory be to God, it’s all done.’ 

“ ‘ What’s over ? what’s done ?” inquired I, with impatience. 

“ ‘ Mr. M‘Mahon is satisfied,’ replied he, ‘ and so is the other 
gentleman.’ 

“ ‘ Who and what the devil do you mean ?’ 

“ ‘ It’s all over, sir, I say,’ replied the waiter again ; ‘ he fired 
into the air.’ 

“ ‘ Fired in the air ! Was there a duel in the room below 
stairs ?’ 

“ ‘ Yes, sir,’ said the waiter, with a benign smile. 

“ ‘ That will do,’ said I, as, seizing my hat, I rushed out of the 
house, and, hurrying to the beach, took a boat for the ship. Ex- 
actly half an hour had elapsed since my landing, but even those 
short thirty minutes had fully as many reasons that, although there 
may be few more amusing, there are some safer places to live in 
than the green island.” 

A general burst of laughter followed the cornet’s story, which , 
was heightened in its effect by the gravity with which he told it. 

“And, after all,” said Maurice Quill, “now that people have 
given up making fortunes for the insurance companies, by living 
to the age of Methuselah, there’s nothing like being an Irishman. 
Into what other part of the habitable globe can you cram so much 
of adventure into ofie year ? Where can you be so often in love, 
in liquor, or in debt ? and where can you get so merrily out of the 
three? Where are promises to marry and promises to pay treated 
with the same gentlemanly forbearance? and where,. when you 

VoL. II.— 16 L 


122 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 

have lost your heart and your fortune, are people found so ready 
to comfort you in your reverses ? Yes,’^ said Maurice, as he filled 
his glass up to the brim, and eyed it lusciously for a moment, 
‘‘Yes, darling, here’s your health; the only girl I ever loved — in 
that part of the country, I mean. Give her a bumper, lads, and Pll 
give you a chant.” 

“ Name ! name ! name !” shouted several voices from different 
parts of the table. 

“ Mary Draper !” said Maurice, filling his glass once more, while 
the name was re-echoed by every lip at the table. 

“ The song ! the song !” 

“ Faith, I hope I haven’t forgotten it,” quoth Maurice. “ No : 
here it is.” 

So saying, after a couple of efforts to assure the pitch of his 
voice, the worthy doctor began the following words to that very 
popular melody, “ Nancy Dawson :” 


« MARY DRAPER.” 
Air — Nancy Dawson. 


“ Don’t talk to me of London dames, 

Nor rave about your foreign flames, 

That never lived — except in drames. 

Nor shone, except on paper ; 

I’ll sing you ’bout a girl I knew, . 

Who lived in Ballywhacmacrew, 

And, let me tell you, mighty few 
Could equal Mary Draper. 

“ Her cheeks were red, her eyes were blue. 
Her hair was brown of deepest hue, 

‘Her foot was small and neat to view. 

Her waist was slight and taper ; 

«■ Her voice was music to your ear, 

A lovely brogue, so rich and clear, 

O, the like I ne’er again shall hear 
As from sweet Mary Draper. 


“ She’d ride a wall, she’d drive a team. 

Or with a fly she’d whip a stream. 

Or maybe sing you ‘ Rousseau’s Dream,’ 

For nothing could escape her ; 

I’ve seen her too — upon my word — 

At sixty yards bring down a bird, ' ' 

0 ! she charmed all the Forty-third ! 

Did lovely Mary Draper. 

/ 

“ And at the spring assizes ball. 

The junior bar would one and all 
For all her fav’rite dances call. 

And Harry Deane would caper; 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


123 


Lord Clare would then forget his lore, 

King’s counsel, voting law a bore, 

Were proud to figure on the floor, 

For love of Mary Draper. 

“ The parson, priest, sub-sheriff too, 

Were all her slaves, and so would you. 

If you had only but one view 
Of such a face and shape, or 
Her pretty ankles — but, ohone, 

It’s only west of old Athlone 
Such girls were found — and now they’re gone ; 
So here’s to Mary Draper.” 


“So here’s to Mary Draper,” sang out every voice, in such 
efforts to catch the tune as pleased the taste of the motley assem- 
bly. 

“ For Mary Draper & Co., I thank you,” said Maurice. “ Quill 
drinks to Dennis,” added he in a grave tone, as he nodded to 
O’Shaughnessy. “Yes, Shaugh, few men better than ourselves 
know these matters, and few have had more experience of the 
three perils of Irishmen — love, liquor, and the law of arrest.” 

“ It’s little the latter has ever troubled my father’s son,” replied 
O’Shaughnessy ; “ our family have been writ proof for centuries, 
and he’d have been a bold man who would have ventured with an 
original or a true copy within the precincts of Killinahoula.” 

“ Your father had a touch of Larry M^Hale in him,” said I, 
“ apparently.” 

“ Exactly so,” replied Dennis : “ not but they caught him at 
last ; and a scurvy trick it was, and well worthy of him who did 
it ! Yes,” said he with a sigh, “ it is only another among the many 
instances where the better features of our nationality have been 
used by our enemies as instruments for our destruction; and 
should we seek for the causes of unhappiness in our wretched 
country, we should find them rather in our virtues than in our 
vices, and in the bright rather than in the darker phases of our 
character.” 

“Metaphysics, by Jove!” cried Quill, “but all true the same 
time. There was a messmate of mine in the Roscommon, who 
never paid car-hire in his life. ‘ Head or harp, Paddy !’ he would 
cry. ‘ Two pennies or nothing.’ ‘ Harp ! for the honour of ould 
Ireland,’ was the invariable response, and my friend was equally 
sure to make head come uppermost ; and, upon my soul, they 
seem to know the trick at the Home Office.” 

“ That must have been the same fellow that took my father,” 
cried O’Shaughnessy, with energy. 

“ Let us hear the story, Dennis,” said I. 

Yes,” said Maurice, “ for the benefit of self and fellows, let us 
hear the stratagem !” 


124 


CHARLES O’mALLEY, 

4 

“ The way of it was this/’ resumed O’Shaughnessy ; “ my 
father, who, for reasons registered in the King’s Bench, spent a 
great many years of his life in that part of Ireland geographically 
known as lying west of the law, was obliged, for certain reasons of 
family, to come up to Dublin. This he proceeded to do with due 
caution : two trusty servants formed an advance guard, and 
patrolled the country for at least five miles in advance ; after them 
came a skirmishing body of a few tenants, who, for the considera- 
tion of never paying rent, would have charged the whole Court of 
Chancery, if needful. My father himself, in an old chaise, victual- 
led like a fortress, brought up the rear; and, as I said before, he 
were a bold man who would have attempted to have laid siege to 
him. As the column advanced into the enemy’s country, they as- 
sumed a closer order, the patrol and the picket falling back upon the 
main body ; and in this way they reached that most interesting 
city called Kilbeggan. What a fortunate thing it is for us in Ire- 
land that we can see so much of the world without foreign travel, 
and that any gentleman for six-and-eight-pence can leave Dublin in 
the morning and visit Timbuctoo against dinner-time ! Don’t stare ! 
it’s truth I’m telling ; for dirt, misery, smoke, unaffected behaviour, 
and black faces. I’ll back Kilbeggan against all Africa. Free-and- 
easy pleasant people ye are, with a skin as begrimed and as rugged 
as your own potatoes ! But to resume : the sun was just rising in 
a delicious morning of June, when my father — whose loyal anti- 
pathies I have mentioned made him also an early riser — was 
preparing for the road. A stout escort of his followers were as 
usual under arms to see him safe in the chaise, the passage to and 
from which every day being the critical moment of my father’s life. 

‘‘‘It’s all right, your honour,’ said his own man, as, armed with 
a blunderbuss, he opened the bed-room door. 

“ ‘ Time enough, Tim,’ said my father : ‘ close the door, for I 
haven’t finished my breakfast.’ 

“ Now, the real truth was, that my father’s attention was at that 
moment withdrawn from his own concerns, by a scene which was 
taking place in a field beneath his window. 

“ But a few minutes before a hack-chaise had stopped upon the 
road side ; out of which sprang three gentlemen, who, proceeding 
into the field, seemed bent upon something which, whether a sur- 
vey or a duel, my father could not make out. He was not long, 
however, to remain in ignorance. One with an easy lounging 
gait strode towards a distant corner; another took an opposite 
direction ; while the third, a short pursy gentleman, in a red hand- 
kerchief and a rabbit skin waistcoat, proceeded to open a maho- 
gany box, which, to the critical eyes of my respected father, was 
agreeably suggestive of bloodshed and murder. 

“‘A duel, by Jupiter!’ said my father, rubbing his hands. 
‘ What a heavenly morning the scoundrels have ; not a leaf stirring, 
and a sod like a billiard-table.’ 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


125 


“ Meanwhile, the little man who officiated as second, it would 
appear, to both parties, bustled about with activity little congenial 
to his shape ; and, what between snapping the pistols, examining 
the flints, and ramming down the charges, had got himself into a 
sufficient perspiration before he commenced to measure out the 
ground. 

‘‘ ‘ Short distance and no quarter !’ shouted one of the combat- 
ants from the corner of the field. 

‘ Across a handkerchief, if you like !’ roared the other. 

Gentlemen, every inch of them!’ responded my father. 

‘‘‘Twelve paces !’ cried the little man. ‘ No more and no less. 
Don’t forget that I am alone in this business !’ 

“‘A very true remark!’ observed my father; ‘and an awk- 
ward predicament yours will be if they are both shot !’ 

“ By this time the combatants had taken their places, and the 
little man, having delivered the pistols, was leisurely retiring to 
give the word. My father, however, whose critical eye was never 
at fault, detected a circumstance which promised an immense 
advantage to one at the expense of the other ; in fact, one of the 
parties was so placed with his back to the sun, that his shadow 
extended in a straight line to the very foot of his antagonist. 

‘“ Unfair ! unfair !’ cried my father, opening the window as he 
spoke, and addressing himself to him of the rabbit-skin. ‘ I crave 
your pardon for the interruption,’ said he ; ‘ but I feel bound to 
observe that that gentleman’s shadow is likely to make a shade of 
him.’ 

“ ‘ And so it is,’ observed the short man : ‘ a thousand thanks 
for your kindness ; but the truth is, I am totally unaccustomed to 
this kind of thing, and the affair will not admit of delay.’ 

“ ‘ Not an hour !’ said one. 

“ ‘ Not five minutes !’ growled the other of the combatants. 

“ ‘ Put them up north and south !’ said my father. 

‘“ Is it thus ?’ 

“‘Exactly so : but now again the gentleman in the brown coat 
is covered with the ashtree.’ 

“‘And so he is!’ said rabbit-skin, wiping his forehead with 
agitation. 

“ ‘ Move them a little to the left,’ said he. 

“ ‘ That brings me upon an eminence,’ said the gentleman in 
blue ; ‘ I’ll be d — d if I’ll be made a cock-shot of.’ 

“ ‘ What an awkward little thing it is in the hairy waistcoat !’ 
said my father; ‘he’s lucky if he don’t get shot himself.’ 

“‘May I never! if I’m not sick of you both !’ ejaculated rabbit- 
skin, in a passion. ‘ I’ve moved you round every point of the 
compass, and the devil a nearer we are than ever.’ 

“ ‘ Give us the word,’ said one. 

“ ‘ The word !’ 

“ ‘ Downright murder ’ said my father. 

L 2 


126 


CHARLES o’MALLEY. 


^ I don’t care,’ said the little man ; ‘ we shall be here till 
doomsday.’ 

‘ I can’t permit this,’ said my father. ‘ Allow me — so say- 
ing, he stepped upon the window sill, and leaped down into the 
field. 

“ ‘ Before I can accept of your politeness,’ said he of the rabbit- 
skin, ‘may I beg to know your name and position in society ?’ 

“‘Nothing more reasonable,’ said my father. ‘I’m Miles 
O’Shaughnessy, Colonel of the Royal Raspers : here is my 
card.’ 

“ The piece of pasteboard was complacently handed from one 
to the other of the party, who saluted my father with a smile of 
most courteous benignity. 

“ ‘ Colonel O’Shaughnessy,’ said one. 

“‘ Miles O’Shaughnessy,’ said another. 

“ ‘ Of Killinahoula Castle,’ said the third. 

“ ‘ At your service,’ said my father bowing, as he presented his 
snuft'box : ‘ and now to business, if you please ; for my time also 
is limited.’ 

“‘Very true,’ observed he of the rabbit-skin, and, as you 
observe, now to business; in virtue of which. Colonel Miles 
O’Shaughnessy, I hereby arrest you in the king’s name. Here is 
the writ : it’s at the suit of Barnaby Kelley, of Loughrea, for the 
sum of ^61583 19^. l\d. which ’ 

“ Before he could conclude the sentence, my father discharged 
one obligation, by implanting his closed knuckles in his face. The 
blow, well aimed and well intentioned, sent the little fellow sum- 
mersetting like a sugar-hogshead. But, alas ! it was of no use ; 
the others, strong and able-bodied, fell both upon him, and after a 
desperate struggle, succeeded in getting him down. To tie his 
hands, and convey him to the chaise, was the work of a few mo- 
ments ; and, as my father drove by the inn, the last object which 
caught his view was the bloody encounter between his own peo- 
ple and the myrmidons of the law, who in great numbers had laid 
siege to the house during his capture. Thus was my father taken ; 
and thus, in reward for yielding to a virtuous weakness in his 
character, was he consigned to the ignominious durance of a prison. 
Was I not right, then, in saying that such is the melancholy posi- 
tion of our country, the most beautiful traits in our character are 
converted into the elements of ruin ?” 

“ I dinna think ye hae made out your case, major,” said the 
Scotch doctor, who felt sorely puzzled at my friend’s logic. “ If 
your faether had na’ gi’en the bond ” 

“ There is no saying what he wouldn’t have done to the bailiffs,” 
interrupted Dennis, who was following up a very different train 
of reasoning. 

“ I fear me, doctor,” observed Quill, “ you are very much behind 
us in Scotland. Not that but some of your chieftains are 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


127 


very respectable men, and wouldn’t get on badly even in Gal- 
way.” 

“ I thank thee inuckle for the compliment,” said the doctor, 
dryly; ‘^but I hae my doubts they’d think it ane, and they’re 
crusty carls that’s no’ ower safe to meddle wi’.” 

‘‘I’d as soon propose a hand of spoiled five to the Pope of Rome, 
as a joke to one of them,” returned Maurice. 

“ Maybe ye are na wrang there, Maister Quell.” 

“ Well,” cried Hampden, “ if I may be allowed an opinion, I 
can safely aver I know no quarters like Scotland. Edinburgh 
beyond any thing or anywhere I was ever placed in.” 

“ Always after Dublin,” interposed Maurice, while a general 
chorus of voices re-echoed the sentiment. 

“ You are certainly in a strong majority,” said my friend, 
“ against me ; but still I recant not my original opinion. Edin- 
burgh before the world. For hospitality that never tires ; for pleasant 
fellows, that improve every day of your acquaintance; for pretty 
girls, that make you long for a repeal of the canon about being 
only singly blessed, and lead you to long for a score of them ; 
Edinburgh before the world.” 

“ Their ankles are devilish thick,” whispered Maurice. 

“ A calumny, a base calumny !” 

“ And then they drink ” 

« 0 ” 

“ Yes ; they drink very strong tea.” 

“ Shall we hae a glass o’ sherry together, Hampden,” said 
the Scotch doctor, willing to acknowledge his defence of auld 
Reekie. 

“ And we’ll take O’Malley in,” said Hampden ; “ he looks 
imploringly.” 

“ And now to return to the charge,” quoth Maurice. “ In 
what particular dare ye contend the palm with Dublin ? We’ll 
not speak of beauty. I can’t suffer any such profane turn in 
the conversation as to dispute the superiority of Irish wo- 
men’s lips, eyes, noses, and eye-brows, to any thing under heaven. 
We’ll not talk of gay fellows ; egad we needn’t. I’ll give you 
the garrison ; a decent present, and I’ll back the Irish bar for 
more genuine drollery, more epigram, more ready sparkling fun, 
than the whole rest of the empire — ay, and all her colonies — can 
boast of.” 

“ They are nae remarkable for passing the bottle, if they re- 
semble their gifted advocate,” observed the Scotchman. 

“ But they are for filling and emptying both, making its current 
as it glides by like a rich stream glittering m the sunbeams 
with the sparkling lustre of their wit. Lord, how I’m blown ! 
Fill my panniken, Charley ; there’s no subduing a Scot. Talk 
with him, fight with him, and he’ll always have the best of it; 
there’s only one way of concluding the treaty ” 


128 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


“ And that is — ” 

“Blarney him. Lord bless you,' he can’t stand it. Tell him 
Holyrood’s like Versailles, and the Trossachs finer than Mount 
Blanc ; that Geordie Buchanan was Homer, and the Canongate 
Herculaneum — then ye have him on the hip. Now ye never can 
humbug an Irishman that way ; he knows you’re quizzing him 
when you prai-se his country.” 

“ Ye are right, Hampden,” said the Scotch doctor, in reply to 
some observation. “ We are vara primitive in the hielands, and 
we keep to our ain national customs in dress and every thing ; and 
we are vara slow to learn ; and even when we try we are na ower 
successfu’ in our imitations, which sometimes co&t us dearly enough. 
Ye may have heard, maybe, of the M‘Nab o’ that ilk, and what 
happened him with the king’s equerry. 

“ I am not quite certain,” said Hampden, “ if I ever heard the 
story.” 

“ It’s nae muckle of a story ; but the way of it was this : — When 
Montrose came back from London, he brought with him a few 
Englishers to show them the Highlands, and let them see some> 
thing of deer-stalking. Among the rest a certain Sir George Sow- 
erby, an aid-de-camp or an equerry of the prince. He went out 
every morning to shoot with his hair curled like a woman, and 
dressed like a dancing-master. Now, there happened to be at the 
same time at the castle the Laird o’ M‘Nab ; he was a kind of 
cousin of the Montrose ; and a rough old tyke of the true highland 
breed — wha thought that the head of a clan was fully equal to 
any king or prince. He sat opposite to Sir George at dinner the 
day of his arrival, and could not conceal his surprise at the many 
new fangled ways of feeding himself the Englisher adopted. He 
ate his saumon wi’ his fork in ae hand, and a bittock of bread in 
the other: he would na touch the whiskey; helped himself to a 
cutlet wi’ his fingers ; but what was maist extraordinary of all, he 
wore a pair of braw white gloves during the whole time o’ dinner; 
and, when they came to tak’ away the cloth, he drew them oft’ 
with a great air, and threw them into the middle of it, and then, 
leisurely taking anither pair off a silver salver which his ain man 
presented, he pat them on for the dessert. The M‘Nab, who, 
although an auld-fashioned carle, was aye fond of bringing some- 
thing new hame to his friends, remarked the Englisher’s proceed- 
ing with great care, and the next day he appeared at dinner wi’ a 
huge pair of highland mittens, which he wore, to the astonishment 
of all and the amusement of most, through the whole three courses; 
and exactly as the Englishman changed his gloves, the M‘Nab 
produced a fresh pair of goat’s wool, four times as large as the 
first, which, drawing on with prodigious gravity, he threw the 
others into the middle of the cloth, remarking, as he did so — 

“ ‘Ye see, captain, we are never ower auld to learn.’ 

“ All propriety was now at an end, and a hearty burst of laugh- 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


129 


ter from one end of the table to the other convulsed the whole 
company ; the M^Nab and the Englishman being the only persons 
who did not join in it, but sat glowering at each other like twa 
tigers : and, indeed, it needed a’ the Montrose’s interference that 
they had na’ quarrelled upon it in the morning.” 

“ The M^Nab was a man after my own heart,” said Maurice ; 
“ there was something very Irish in the lesson he gave the English- 
man.” 

‘‘ Pd rather ye’d told him that than me,” said the doctor, drily 5 
“ he would na hae thanked ye for mistaking him for ane of your 
countrymen.” 

Come, Doctor !” said Dennis, ‘‘could not ye give us a stave ? 
Have ye nothing that smacks of the brown fern and the blue lakes 
in your memory ?” 

“ I have na a sang in my mind just noo except Johnny Cope ; 
which maybe might not be ower pleasant for the Englishers to 
listen to.” 

“ I never heard a Scotch song worth sixpence,” quoth Maurice, 
who seemed bent on provoking the doctor’s ire. “ They contain 
nothing save some puling sentimentality about lasses with lint 
white locks, or some absurd laudations of the barley bree.” 

“ Hear till him ! hear till him !” said the doctor, reddening with 
impatience. 

“ Show me anything,” said Maurice, “like the Cruiskeen Lawn 
or the Jug of Punch; but who can blame them after all? You 
can’t expect much from a people with an imagination as naked as 
their own knees.” 

“ Maurice, Maurice,” cried O’Shaughnessy, reprovingly, who 
saw that he was pushing the other’s endurance beyond all 
bounds. 

“ 1 mind weel,” said the Scotchman, “ what happened to ane o’ 
3 mur countrymen wha took upon him to jest as you are doing 
now. It was to Laurie Cameron he did it,” 

“And what said the redoubted Laurie in reply?” 

“ He did na say muckle, but he did something.” 

“ And what might it be ?” inquired Maurice. 

“ He threw him ower the brig of Ayr into the water, and he 
was drowned !” 

“ And did Laurie come to no harm about the matter?” 

“ Ay ! they tried him for it, and found him guilty ; but when 
they asked him what he had to say in his defence, he merely 
replied, ‘ When the carle sneered about Scotland, I did na suspect 
that he did na ken how to swim ; and so the end of it was, they 
did naething to Laurie.’ ” 

“Cool that, certainly,” said I. 

“ I prefer your friend with the mittens, I confess,” said Mau- 
rice ; “though I’m sure both were most agreeable companions- 
But come. Doctor, couldn’t you give us — 

Vol. II.— 17 


130 


CHARLES O^MALLET, 


“ Sit ye down, my heartie, and gie us a crack. 

Let the wind tak’ the care o’ the world on his back.” 

“ You maunna attempt English poetry, my freend Quell ; for it 
must be confessed ye’ve a damnable accent of your ain.” 

Milesian-Phoenician-Corkacian : nothing more, my boy ; and 
a coaxing kind of recitative it is, after all. Don’t tell me of 
your soft Etruscan — your plethoric Hoch Deustch — your flattering 
French. To woo and win the girl of your heart, give me a rich 
brogue, and the least taste in life of blarney !” 

“ There’s nothing like it, believe me — every inflexion of your 
voice suggesting some tender pressure of her soft hand or taper 
waist ; every cadence falling upon her gentle heart like a sea 
breeze on a burning coast, or a soft sirocco over a rose tree ; and 
then think, my boys, — and it is a fine thought after all, — what a 
glorious gift that is, out of the reach of kings to give or to take, 
what neither depends upon the act of Union nor the Habeas Cor- 
pus. No! they may starve us — laugh at us — tax us — transport 
us. They may take our mountains, our valleys, and our bogs ; 
but, bad luck to them, they can’t steal our ^blarney;’ that’s the 
privilege one and indivisible with our identity ; and while an 
Englishman raves of his liberty — a Scotchman of his oatenmeal — 
blarney’s our birthright, and a prettier portion I’d never ask to 
leave behind me to my sons. If I’d as large a family as the ould 
gentleman, called Priam, we used to hear of at school, it’s the only 
inheritance I’d give them ; and one comfort there would be besides 
— the legacy duty would be only a trifle. Charley, my son, I see 
you’re listening to me, and nothing satisfies me more than to in- 
struct aspiring youth ; so never forget the old song, 

“ If, at your ease, the girls you’d please, 

And win them, like Kate Kearney, 

There’s but one way. I’ve heard them say. 

Go kiss the ‘ Stone of Blarney.’ ” 

‘‘What do you say, Shaugh, if we drink it with all the 
honours ?” 

“ But, gently: do I hear a trumpet there ?” 

“ Ah, there go the bugles. Can it be daybreak already ?” 

“ How short the nights are at this season !” said Quill. 

“ What an infernal rumpus they’re making ! it’s not possible the 
troops are to march so early.” 

“ It wouldn’t surprise me in the least,” quoth Maurice ; “ there 
is no knowing what the commander-in-chief’s not capable of: the 
reason’s clear enough.” . 

“ And why, Maurice !” 

“ There’s not a bit of blarney about him.” 

The r'eveilUe sang out from every brigade, and the drums beat 
to fall in, while Mike came gallopping up at full speed to say that 
the brigade of boats was completed and that the Twelfth were 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


i31 


already ordered to cross. Not a moment was therefore to be lost ; 
one parting cup we drained to our next meeting, and amid a 
hundred ‘‘ good-byes” we mounted our horses. Poor Hampden’s 
brains sadly confused by the wine and the laughing, he knew little 
of what was going on around him, and passed the entire time of 
our homeward ride in a vain endeavour to adapt Mary Draper to 
the air of Rule Britannia. 


132 


CHARLES o’MALLEY, 


CHAPTER XXII. 

EUENTES d’oNORO. 

From this period the French continued their retreat, closely fol- 
lowed by the allied armies, and on the 5th of April, Massena once 
more crossed the frontier into Spain, leaving thirty thousand of his 
bravest troops behind him, fourteen thousand of whom had fallen, 
or been taken prisoners : reinforcements, however, came rapidly 
pouring in. Two divisions of the ninth corps had already arrived, 
and Drouet, with eleven thousand infantry and cavalry, was pre- 
paring to march to his assistance. Thus strengthened, the French 
army marched toward the Portuguese frontier, and Lord Welling- 
ton, who had determined not to hazard much by his blockade of 
Ciudad Rodrigo, fell back upon the large table land between the 
Turones and the Dos Casas, with his left at Fort Conception, and 
his right resting upon Fuentes d’Onoro. His position extended to 
about five miles ; and here, although vastly inferior in numbers, yet 
relying upon the bravery of the troops and the moral ascendancy 
acquired by their pursuit of the enemy, he finally resolved upon 
giving them battle. 

Being sent with despatches to Pack’s brigade, which formed the 
blockading forcq at Almeida, I did not reach Fuentes d’Onoro 
until the evening of the third. The thundering of the guns, which, 
even at the distance I was at, was plainly heard, announced that 
an attack had taken place, but it by no means prepared me for the 
scene which presented itself on my return. 

The village of Fuentes d’Onoro, one of the most beautiful in 
Spain, is situated in a lovely valley, where all the charms of ver- 
dure so peculiar to the Peninsula seem to have been scattered with 
a lavish hand. The citron and the arbutus growing wild, sheltered 
every cottage door, and the olive and the laurel threw their 
shadows across the little rivulet which traversed the village. The 
houses, observing no uniform arrangement, stood wherever the 
caprice or the inclination of the builder suggested, surrounded with 
little gardens; the inequality of the ground imparting a pictu- 
resque feature to even the lowliest hut, while, upon a craggy 
ehiinence above the rest, an ancient convent and a ruined chapel 
looked down upon the little peaceful hamlet with an air of tender 
protection. 

Hitherto this lovely spot had escaped all the ravages of war. 
The light division of our army had occupied it for months long ; 
and every family was gratefully remembered by some one or 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


133 


Other of our officers ; and more than one of our wounded found 
in the kind and affectionate watching of these poor peasants, the 
solace which sickness rarely meets with when far from home and 
country. 

It was then with anxious heart I pressed my horse forward into 
the gallop as the night drew near. The artillery had been distinct- 
ly heard during the day, and, while I burned with eagerness to 
know the result, I felt scarcely less anxious for the fate of that 
little hamlet, whose name many a kind story had implanted in my 
memory. The moon was shining brightly as I passsed the out- 
post ; and, leading my horse by the bridle, descended the steep and 
rugged causeway to the village beneath me. The lanterns were 
moving rapidly to and fro ; the measured tread of infantry at night 
— that ominous sound, which falls upon the heart so sadly — told 
me that they were burying the dead. The air was still and breath- 
less ; not a sound was stirring save the step of the soldiery, and 
the harsh clash of the shovel as it struck the earth. I felt sad, and 
sick at heart, and leaned against a tree ; a nightingale concealed in 
the leaves was pouring forth its plaintive notes to the night air, 
and in its low warble sounded like the dirge of the departed. Far 
beyond, in the plain, the French watch-fires were burning, and I 
could see from time to time the fatigue parties moving in search 
of their wounded. At this moment the clock of the convent struck 
eleven, and a merry chime rang out, and was taken up in echoes, 
till it melted away in the distance. Alas! where were those whose 
hearts were wont to be cheered at that happy peal, whose infancy 
it had gladdened, whose old age it had hallowed : the fallen walls, 
the broken roof trees, the ruin and desolation on every side told 
too plainly that they had passed away forever! The smoking 
embers, the torn-up pathway denoted the hard-fought struggle ; 
and, as I passed along, I could see that every garden, where the 
cherry and the apple blossom were even still perfuming the air, 
had now its sepulchre. 

“ Halt, there cried a hoarse voice in front. “ You cannot pass 
this way ; the commander-in-chieFs quarters.^^ 

I looked up, and beheld a small but neat looking cottage, which 
seemed to have suffered less than the others around. Lights were 
shining brightly from the windows, and I could even detect from 
time to time a figure muffled up in a cloak, passing to and fro 
across the window ; while another, seated at a table, was occupied 
in writing. I turned into a. narrow path which led into the little 
square of the village, and here, as I approached, the hum and 
murmur of voices announced a bivouac party. Stopping to ask 
what had been the result of the day, I learned that a tremendous 
attack had been made by the French in column, upon the village, 
which was at first successful ; but that afterward the 71st and 
79th, marching down from the heights, had repulsed the enemy, 
and driven them beyond the Dos Casas : five hundred had fallen 

M 


134 


CHARLES O^MALLEY, 


in that fierce encounter, which was continued through every street 
and alley of the little hamlet. The gallant Highlanders now oc- 
cupied the battlefield ; and, hearing that the cavalry brigade was 
some miles distant, I willingly accepted their offer to share their 
bivouac, and passed the remainder of the night among them. 

When day broke, our troops were under arms, but the enemy 
showed no disposition to renew the attack. We could perceive, 
however, from the road to the southward, by the long columns of 
dust, that reinforcements were still arriving ; and learned during 
the morning, from a deserter, that Massena himself had come up, 
and Bessieres also, with twelve hundred cavalry, and a battery of 
the imperial guard. 

From the movements observable in the enemy, it was soon evi- 
dent that the battle, though deferred, was not abandoned ; and the 
march of a strong force toward the left of their position induced 
our commander-in-chief to despatch the seventh division, under 
Houston, to occupy the height of Naval d’Aver — our extreme right 
— in support of which our brigade of cavalry marched as a covering 
force. The British position was thus unavoidably extended to the 
enormous length of seven miles, occupying a succession of small 
eminences, from the division of Fort Conception to the height of 
Naval d’Aver ; Fuentes d’Onoro forming nearly the centre of the 
line. 

It was evident, from the thickening combinations of the French, 
that a more dreadful battle was still in reserve for us ; and yet 
never did men look more anxiously for the morrow. 

As for myself, I felt a species of exhilaration I had never before 
experienced ; the events of the preceding day came dropping in 
upon me from every side, and at every new tale of gallantry or 
daring I felt my heart bounding with excited eagerness to win also 
my meed of honourable praise. 

Crawford, too, had recognised me in the kindest manner ; and, 
while saying that he did not wish to withdraw me from my regi- 
ment on a day of battle, added that he would make use of me for 
the present on his staff. Thus was I engaged, from early in the 
morning till late in the evening, bringing orders and despatches 
along the line : the troop-horse I rode — for I reserved my gray for 
the following day — was scarcely able to carry me along, as toward 
dark I journeyed along in the direction of Naval d’Aver. When 
I did reach our quarters, the fires were lighted, and around one of 
them I had the good fortune to find a party of the 14 th occupied 
in discussing a very appetizing little supper : the clatter of plates 
and the popping of champagne corks were most agreeable sounds. 
Indeed, the latter appeared to me so much too flattering an illusion, 
that I hesitated giving credit to my senses in the matter, when 
Baker called out — 

Come, Charley, sit down ; youhe just in the nick. Tom Mars- 
den is giving us a benefit : you know Tom — ’’ 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


135 


And here he presented me in due form to that best of commis- 
saries and most hospitable of horse-dealers. 

“ I can’t introduce you to my friend on my right,” continued 
Baker, for my Spanish is only a skeleton battalion : but he’s a 
trump — that I’ll vouch for ; never flinches his glass, and looks as 
though he enjoyed all our nonsense.” 

The Spaniard, who appeared to comprehend that he was alluded 
to, gravely saluted me with a low bow, and offered his glass to 
hobnob with me. I returned the courtesy with becoming cere- 
mony ; while Hampden whispered in my ear — 

‘‘A fine looking fellow. You know who he is? Julian^ the 
Guerilla chief.” 

I had heard much of both the strangers. Tom Marsden was a 
household word in every cavalry brigade, equally celebrated for 
his contracts and his claret. He knew every one, from Lord Wel- 
lington to the last joined cornet ; and, while upon a march, there 
was no piece of better fortune than to be asked to dine with him. 
So, in the very thick of a battle, Tom’s critical eye was scanning 
the squadrons engaged, with an accuracy as to the number of fresh 
horses that would be required upon the morrow that nothing but 
long practice and infinite coolness could have conferred. 

Of the guerilla I need not speak. The bold feats he accom- 
plished, the aid he rendered to the cause of his country, have made 
his name historical. Yet still, with all this, fatigue, more powerful 
than my curiosity, prevailed, and I sank into a heavy sleep upon 
the grass ; while my merry companions kept up their revels till 
near morning. The last piece of consciousness I am sensible of, 
was seeing Julian spreading his wide mantle over me as I lay, 
while I heard his deep voice whisper a kind wish for my repose. 


136 


CHARLES O’mALLEYj 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE BATTLE OF FUENTES d’oNORO. 

So soundly did I sleep, that the tumult and confusion of the 
morning never awoke me ; and the guerilla, whose cavalry were 
stationed along the edge of the ravine, near the heights of Echora, 
would not permit of my being roused before the last moment. 
Mike stood near me with my horses, and it was only when the 
squadrons were actually forming, that I sprang to my feet and 
looked around me. 

The day was just breaking ; a thick mist lay upon the parched 
earth, and concealed every thing a hundred yards from where we 
stood. From this dense vapour, the cavalry defiled along the base 
of the hill, followed by the horse artillery and the guards, disap- 
pearing again as they passed us, but proving, as the mass of troops 
now assembled, that our position was regarded as the probable 
point of attack. 

While the troops continued to take up their position, the sun 
shone out, and a slight breeze blowing at the same moment, the 
heavy clouds moved past, and we beheld the magnificent panorama 
of the battle-field. Before us, at the distance of less than half a 
league, the French cavalry were drawn up in three strong columns: 
the cuirassiers of the guard, plainly distinguished by their steel 
cuirasses, flanked by the Polish lancers, and a strong hussar bri- 
gade; a powerful artillery train supported the left, and an infantry 
force occupied the entire space between the right and the rising 
ground opposite P090 Velho. Farther to their right, again, the 
column destined for the attack of Fuentes d’Onoro were forming, 
and we could see that, profiting by their past experience, they 
were bent upon attacking the village with an overwhelming 
force. 

For above two hours the French continued to manoeuvre, more 
than one alteration having taken place in their disposition ; fresh 
battalions were moved toward the front, and gradually the whole 
pf their cavalry was assembled on the extreme left in front of our 
position. Our people were ordered to breakfast where we stood ; 
and a little after seven o’clock, a staff-officer came riding down the 
line, followed, in a few moments after, by General Crawford, when, 
no sooner was his well-known brown cob recognised by the troops^, 
than a hearty cheer greeted him along the whole division. 

« Thank ye, boys; thapk ye, boys, with all my heart. No man 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


137 


feels more sensibly what that cheer means than I do. Guards ! 
Lord Wellington relies upon your maintaining this position, which 
is essential to the safety of the whole line. You will be supported 
by the light division. I need say no more. If such troops cannot 
keep their ground, none can. Fourteenth, there’s your place; the 
artillery and the sixteenth are with you. They’ve the odds of us 
in numbers, lads; but it will tell all the better in the gazette. I see 
they’re moving ; so, fall in, now ; fall in, and, Merivale, move to 
the front. Ramsey, prepare to open your fire on the attacking 
squadrons.” 

As he spoke, the low, murmuring sound of distant moving caval- 
ry crept along the earth, growing louder and louder, till at length 
we could detect the heavy tramp of the squadron, as they came on 
in a trot, our pace being merely a walk. While we thus advanced 
into the plain, the artillery unlimbered behind us, and the Spanish 
cavalry, breaking into skirmishers, dashed boldly to the post. 

It was an exciting moment. The ground dipped between the 
two armies, so as to conceal the head of the advancing column of 
the French, and, as the Spanish skirmishers disappeared down the 
i;^dge, our beating hearts and straining eyes followed their last 
horseman. 

Halt ! halt !” was passed from squadron to squadron, and the 
same instant the sharp ring of the pistol-shots and the clash of steel 
from the valley, told us the battle had begun. We could hear the 
guerilla war-cry mingle with the French shout, while the thicken- 
ing crash of firearms implied a sharper conflict. Our fellows were 
already manifesting some impatience to press on, when a Spanish 
horseman appeared above the ridge — another followed, and an- 
other — and then, pell-mell, broken and disordered, they fell back 
before the pursuing cavalry, in flying masses ; while the French, 
charging them hotly home, utterly routed and repulsed them. 

The leading squadrons of the French now fell back upon their 
support ; the column of attack thickened, and a thundering noise 
between their masses announced their brigade of light guns, as 
they galloped to the front. It was then, for the first time, that I 
felt dispirited; far as my eye could stretch, the dense mass of sabres 
extended, defiling from the distant hills, and winding its slow length 
across the plain. I turned to look at our line, scarce one thousand 
strong, and could not help feeling that our hour was come : the 
feeling flashed vividly across my mind, but, the next instant, I felt 
my cheek redden with shame, as I gazed upon the sparkling eyes 
and bold looks around me — the lips compressed, the hands knitted 
to their sahres ; all were motionless, but burning to advance. 

The French had halted on the brow of the hill to form, when 
Merivale came cantering up to us. 

Fourteenth, are ye ready.? Are ye ready, lads ?” 

Ready, sir ! ready!” re-echoed along the line 
VoL. II. — 18 M 2 


138 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


“ Then push them home, and charge ! Charge cried lie, rais- 
ing his voice to a shout at the last word. 

Heavens ! what a crash was there ! Our horses, in top condition, 
no sooner felt the spur than they bounded madly onward. The 
pace — for the distance did not exceed four hundred yards — was 
like racing. To resist the impetus of our approach was impossible; 
and, without a shot fired, scarcely a sabre-cut exchanged, we 
actually rode down their advanced squadrons — hurling them head- 
long upon their supporting division, and rolling men and horses 
beneath us on every side. The French fell back on their artillery ; 
but, before they could succeed in opening their fire upon us, we 
had wheeled, and, carrying otf about seventy prisoners, galloped 
back to our position with the loss of but two men in the whole 
affair. The whole thing was so sudden, so bold, and so successful, 
that I remember well as we rode back a hearty burst of laughter 
was ringing through the squadron at the ludicrous display of horse- 
manship the French presented as they tumbled headlong down the 
hill ; and I cannot help treasuring the recollection, for from that 
moment, all thought of any thing short of victory completely quit- 
ted my mind, and many of my brother officers who had participated 
in my feelings at the commencement of the day, confessed to me 
afterward that it was then for the first time they felt assured of 
beating the enemy. 

While we slowly fell back to our position, the French were seen 
advancing in great force from the village of Alameda, to the attack 
of P090 Velho ; they came on at a rapid pace, their artillery upon 
their front and flank, large masses of cavalry hovering around 
them. The attack upon the village was now opened by the large 
guns ; and, amid the booming of the artillery and the crashing 
volleys of small fire arms, rose the shout of the assailants, and the 
wild cry of the guerilla cavalry, who had formed in front of the 
village. The French advanced firmly, driving back the pickets, 
and actually inundating the devoted village with a shower of 
grape ; the blazing fires burst from the ignited roofs ; and the 
black dense smoke rising on high, seemed to rest like a pall over 
the little hamlet. 

The conflict was now a tremendous one ; our seventh division 
held the village with the bayonet ; but the French continued to 
pour in mass upon mass, drove them back with loss, and, at the 
end of an hour’s hard fighting, took possession of the place. 

The wood upon the left flank was now seen to swarm with light 
infantry, and the advancement of their whole left proved that they 
meditated to turn our flank : the space between the village and the 
hill of Naval d’Aver became now the central position ; and here 
the guerilla force, led on by Julian Sanches, seemed to await the 
French with confidence. Soon, however, the cuirassiers came 
galloping to the spot, and almost without exchanging a sabre cut, 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


139 


the guerillas fell back, and retired behind the Turones. This 
movement of Julian was more attributable to anger than to fear; 
for his favourite lieutenant, being mistaken for a French officer, 
was shot by a soldier of the guards a few minutes before. 

Montbnm pursued the guerillas with some squadrons of horse, 
but they turned resolutely upon the French, and not till over- 
whelmed by numbers did they show any disposition to retreat. 

The French, however, now threw forward their whole cavalry, 
and, driving back the English horse, succeeded in turning the right 
of the seventh division. The battle by this time was general. 
The staff officers who came up from the left, informed us that 
Fuentes d’Onoro was attacked in force, Massena himself leading 
the assault in person ; while thus for seven miles the fight was 
maintained hotly at intervals, it was evident that upon the mainte- 
nance of our position the fortune of the day depended. Hitherto, 
we had been repulsed from the village and the wood ; and the 
dark masses of infantry which were assembled upon our right, 
seemed to threaten the hill of Naval d’Aver with as sad a catas- 
trophe. 

Crawford came now galloping up among us, his eye flashing 
fire, and his uniform splashed and covered with foam — 

“ Steady, sixteenth, steady ! Don’t blow your horses ! Have 
your fellows advanced, Malcolm?” and he, turning to an officer 
who stood beside him; ‘^ay, there they go,” pointing with his 
finger to the wood where as he spoke, the short ringing of the 
British rifle proclaimed the advance of that brigade. “ Let the 
cavalry prepare to charge ! And now, Ramsey, let us give it them 
home !” 

Scarcely were the words spoken, when the squadrons were 
formed, and, in an instant after, the French light infantry were 
seen retreating from the wood, and flying in disorderly masses 
across the plain. Our squadrons riding down among them, actually 
cut them to atoms, while the light artillery unlimbering, threw in 
a deadly discharge of grape-shot. 

To the right, fourteenth, to the right !” cried General Stewart. 
“ Have at their hussars !” 

Whirling by them, we advanced at a gallop, and dashed toward 
the enemy, who not less resolutely bent, came boldly forward to 
meet us: the shock was terrific; the leading squadrons on both 
sides went down almost to a man, and, all order being lost, the 
encounter became one of hand to hand. 

The struggle was deadly ; neither party would give way ; and, 
whil(j fortune now inclined hither and thither. Sir Charles Stewart 
singled out .the French general Lamotte, and carried him off his 
prisoner.. Meanwhile Montbrun’s cavalry and the cuirassiers came 
riding up, and, the retreat now sounding through our ranks, we 
were obliged to fall back upon the infantry. The French pursued 


140 


CHARLES O^MALLEY, 


US hotly ; and so rapid was their movement that, before Rarnsey^s 
brigade could limber up and away, their squadrons had surrounded 
him and captured his guns. 

Where is Ramsey cried Crawford, as he galloped to the 
head of our division. Cut otF — cut off! Taken, by G — ! There 
he goes said he, pointing with his finger as a dense cloud of 
mingled smoke and dust moved darkly across the plain. Form 
into column once more 

As he spoke, the dense mass before us seemed agitated by some 
mighty commotion : the flashing of blades and the rattling of small 
arms, mingled with shouts of triumph or defiance, burst forthy 
and the ominous cloud lowering more darkly, seemed peopled by 
those in deadly strife. An English cheer pealed high above all 
other sounds ; a second followed ; the mass was rent asunder^ and,, 
like the forked lightning from a thunder cloud, Ramsey rode forth 
at the head of his battery, his horses bounding madly, while the 
guns sprang behind them, like things of no weight ; the gunners 
leaped to their places, and, fighting hand to hand with the French 
cavalry, they flew across the plain. 

Nobly done, gallant Ramsey said a voice behind me. I 
turned at the sound ; it was Lord Wellington who spoke. My eye 
fixed upon his stern features, I forgot all else, when he suddenly 
recalled me to my recollection by saying — 

‘‘ Follow your brigade, sir. Charge 

In an instant I was with my people, who, intervening betwixt 
Ramsey and his pursuers, repulsed the enemy with loss, and carried 
off several prisoners. The French, however, came up in greater 
strength ; overwhelming masses of cavalry came sweeping upon 
us, and we were obliged to retire behind the light division, which 
rapidly formed into squares to resist the cavalry. The seventh 
division, which was more advanced, were however too late for this 
movement, and before they could effect their fonnation, the French 
were upon them. At this moment they owed their safety to the 
chasseurs Britanniques, who poured in a flanking fire, so close, and, 
with so deadly aim, that their foes recoiled, beaten and bewildered. 

Meanwhile, the French had become masters of Poco Veho; 
the formidable masses had nearly outflanked us on the right. The 
battle was lost, if we could not fall back upon our original position, 
and concentrate our forces upon Fuentes d’Onoro. To effect this 
was a work of great difficulty, but no time was to be lost. The 
seventh division were ordered to cross the Turones, while Craw- 
ford, forming the light division into squares, covered their retreat, 
and, supported by the cavalry, sustained the whole force of the 
enemy’s attack. 

Then was the moment to witness the cool and steady bravery 
of British infantry : the squares dotted across the enormous plain 
seemed as nothing amid that confused and flying multitude, com- 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


141 


posed of commissariat baggage, camp followers, peasants, and, 
finally, broken pickets and videttes arriving from the wood. A 
cloud of cavalry hovered and darkened around them : the Polish 
lancers shook their long spears, impatient of delay, and the wild 
huzzas burst momentarily from their squadrons as they waited for 
the word to attack. But the British stood firm and undaunted ; 
and, although the enemy rode round their squares, Montbrun him- 
self at their head, they never dared to charge them. Meanwhile, 
the seventh fell back, as if on a parade, and, crossing the river, took 
up their ground at Frenada, pivoting upon the first division ; the 
remainder of the line fell also back, and assumed a position at 
right angles with their former one, the cavalry forming in front, 
and holding the French in check during the movement. This was 
a splendid manoeuvre, and, when made in face of an over-number- 
ing enemy, one unmatched during the whole war. 

At sight of this new front the French stopped short, and opened 
a fire from their heavy guns. The British batteries replied with 
vigor, and silenced the enemy’s cannon. The cavalry drew out of 
range, and the infantry gradually fell back to their former position. 
While this was going on, the attack upon Fuentes d’Onoro was 
continued with unabated vigor. The three British regiments in the 
lower town were pierced by the French tirailleurs, who poured 
upon them in overwhelming numbers ; the seventy-ninth were 
broken, ten companies taken, and Cameron, their colonel, mortally 
wounded. Thus the lower village was in the hands of the enemy, 
while from the upper town the incessant roll of musketry proclaim- 
ed the obstinate resistance of the British. 

At this period our reserves were called up from the right, in time 
to resist the additional troops which Drouet continued to bring on. 
The French, reinforced by the whole sixth, corps, now came for- 
ward at a quick step. Dashing through the ruined streets of the 
lower town, they crossed the rivulet, fighting bravely, and charged 
against the height. Already their leading files had gained the crag 
beside the chapel. A French colonel, holding his cap upon his 
sword-point, waved on his men. 

The grizzly features of the grenadiers soon appeared, and the 
dark column, half climbing, half running, were seen scaling the 
height. A rifle bullet sent the French leader tumbling from the 
precipice ; and a cheer— mad and reckless as the war-cry of an 
Indian — rent the sky, as the seventy-first and seventy-ninth High- 
landers sprang upon the enemy. 

Our part was a short one : advancing in half squadrons we were 
concealed from the observation of the enemy by the thick vine- 
yards which skirted the lower town ; waiting, with impatience, the 
moment when our gallant infantry should succeed in turning the 
tide of battle. We v/ere ordered to dismount, and stood with our 
bridles on our arms anxious and expectant. The charge of the 


142 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


French column was made close to where we were standing — the 
inspiriting cheers of the officers, the loud vivas of men, were plainly 
heard by us as they rushed to the assault ; but the space between 
us was intersected by walls and brushwood, which totally prevent- 
ed the movements of cavalry. 

Fearlessly their dark column moved up the heights, fixing the 
bayonets as they went. No tirailleurs preceded them, but the tall 
shako of the grenadier of the guard was seen in the first rank. 
Long before the end of the column had passed us the leading files 
were in action. A deafening peal of musketry — so loud — so dense 
— it seemed like artillery, burst forth. A volume of black smoke 
rolled heavily down from the heights and hid all from our view, 
except when the vivid lightning of the platoon firing rent the veil 
asunder, and showed us the troops almost in hand to hand conflict. 

Its Picton’s division, Pm certain,” cried Merivale, I hear the 
bagpipes of the Highlanders.” 

You are right, sir,” said Hampden, ‘^the 71st are in the same 
brigade, and I know their bugles well. There they go again.” 

“ Fourteenth ! fourteenth !” cried a voice from behind, and at 
the same moment a stafi* officer without his hat, and his horse 
bleeding from a recent sabre cut, came up. You must move to 
the rear. Colonel Merivale; the French have gained the heights. 
Move round by the causeway — bring up your squadrons as quickly 
as you can and support the infantry.” 

In a moment we were in our saddles, but scarcely was the word 
^Ho fall in” given, when a loud cheer rent the very air; the mus- 
ketry seemed suddenly to cease, and the mass which seemed to 
struggle up the heights wavered, broke, and turned. 

“ What can that be ?” said Merivale. “ What can it mean ?” 

I can tell you, sir,” said I proudly, while I felt my heart as 
though it would bound from my bosom. 

“ And what is it, boy? Speak!” 

“ There it goes again ! That was an Irish shout ! — the 88th are 
at them !” 

By Jove! here they come,” said Hampden; “God help the 
Frenchmen now !” 

The words were not well spoken, when the red coats of our 
gallant fellows were seen dashing through the vineyard. 

“ The steel, boys— nothing but the steel !” shouted a loud voice 
from the crag above our heads. 

I looked up. It was the stern Picton himself who spoke. 

The 88th now led the pursuit, and sprang from rock to rock in 
all the mad impetuosity of battle ; and like some mighty billow 
rolling before the gale, the French went down the heights. 

“ Gallant 88th ! Gloriously done !” cried Picton, as he waved his 
hat. 

“ Ar’nt we Connaught robbers, now ?” shouted a rich brogue, 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


143 


as its owner, breathless and bleeding, pressed forward in the 
charge. 

A hearty burst of laughter mingled with the din of the battle. 

“ Now for it, boys ! Now for our work !” said Merivale, draw- 
ing his sabre as he spoke ; Forward ! and charge !"’ 

We waited not a second bidding, but bursting from our conceal- 
ment, galloped down in the broken column. It was no regular 
charge, but an indiscriminate rush. Scarcely offering resistance, 
the enemy fell beneath our sabres, or the still more deadly bayo- 
nets of the infantry, who were inextricably mingled up in the 
conflict. 

The chase was followed up for above half a mile, when we fell 
back, fortunately, in good time; for the French had opened a 
heavy fire from their artillery, and regardless of their own retreat- 
ing column, poured a shower of grape among our squadrons. As 
we retired, the straggling files of the Rangers joined us, — their 
faces and accoutrements blackened and begrimed with powder ; 
many of them, themselves wounded, had captured prisoners ; and 
one huge fellow of the grenadier company was seen driving before 
him a no less powerful Frenchman, and to whom, as he turned 
from time to time reluctantly and scowled upon his jailor, the other 
vociferated some Irish imprecation, whose harsh intentions were 
made most palpably evident by a flourish of a drawn bayonet. 

“ Who is he said Mike ; “ who is he ahagur V’ 

Sorrow o’ me knows,” said the other; “but it’s the chap that 
shot Lieutenant Mahony, and I never took my eye off him after ; 
and if the lieutenant’s not dead, sure it’ll be a satisfaction to him 
that I cotched him.” * * * 

* * * * % 

♦ * * * * * 

« * # * * * 

The lower town was now evacuated by the French, who retired 
beyond the range of our artillery ; the upper continued in the 
occupation of our troops ; and, worn out and exhausted, surrounded 
by dead and dying, both parties abandoned the contest,— and the 
battle was over. 

Both sides laid claim to the victory : the French, because, having 
taken the village of Pogo Velio, they had pierced the British line, 
and' compelled them to fall back and assume a new position; the 
British, because the attack upon Fuentes d’Onoro had been suc- 
cessfully resisted, and the blockade of Almeida— the real object of 
the battle— maintained. The loss to each was tremendous : fifteen 
hundred men and officers, of whom three hundred were prisoners, 


144 


CHARLES o’mALLEY. 


were lost by the allies, and a far greater number fell among the 
forces of the enemy. \ 

After the action, a brigade of the light division released the 
troops in the village, and the armies bivouaced once more in sight 
of each other. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


145 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

A RENCONTRE. 

“Lieutenant O’Malley, 14th Light Dragoons, is appointed 
an extra aid-de-camp to Major-General Crawford, until the plea- 
sure of his Royal Highness the Prince Regent is known.” Such 
was the first paragraph of a general order, dated Fuentes D’Onoro, 
the day after the battle, which met me as I awoke from a sound 
and heavy slumber, the result of thirteen hours on horseback. 

A staff appointment was not exactly what I coveted at the mo- 
ment; but I knew that with Crawford my duties were more likely^ 
to be at the pickets and advanced posts of the army, than in the 
mere details of note-writing or despatch-bearing ; besides that, I 
felt, whenever any thing of importance was to be done, I should 
always obtain his permission to do duty with my regiment. 

Taking a hurried breakfast, therefore, I mounted my horse, and 
cantered over to Villa Formosa, where the general’s quarters were, 
to return my thanks for the promotion, and take the necessary steps 
for assuming my new functions. 

Although the sun had risen about two hours, the fatigue of the 
previous day had impressed itself upon all around. The cavalry, 
men and horses, were still stretched upon the sward, sunk in sleep; 
the videttes, weary and tired, seemed anxiously watching for the 
relief, and the disordered and confused appearance of every thing 
bespoke that discipline had relaxed its stern features, in compas- 
sion for the bold exertions of the preceding day. The only con- 
trast to this general air of exhaustion and weariness on every side, 
was a corps of sappers, who were busily employed upon the high 
grounds above the village. Early as it was, they seemed to have 
been at work some hours — at least so their labours bespoke; for 
already a rampart of considerable extent had been thrown up, 
stockades implanted, and a breastwork was in a state of active 
preparation. The officer of the party, wrapped up in a loose 
cloak, and mounted upon a sharp-looking hackney, rode hither 
and thither, as the occasion warranted, and seemed, as well as 
from the distance as I could guess, something of a tartar. At least 
I could not help remarking how, at his approach, the several inferior 
officers seemed suddenly so much more on the alert, and the men 
worked with an additional vigour and activity. I stopped for 
some minutes to watch him, and seeing an engineer captain of my 
acquaintance among the party, couldn’t resist calling out — 

“ I say, Hachard, your friend on the chestnut rnare must have 
VoL. II.— 19 N 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 




had an easier day, yesterday, than some of ns, or Fll be hanged if 
he’d be so active this morning.” Hachard hung his head in some 
confusion, and did not reply; and, on my looking round, whom 
should I see before me but the identical individual I had so coolly 
been criticising, and who, to my utter horror and dismay, was no 
other than Lord Wellington himself, I did not wait for a second 
peep : helterskelter, through water, thickets, and brambles, away I 
went, clattering down the causeway like a madman. If a French 
squadron had been behind me, Pd have had a stouter heart, al- 
though I did not fear pursuit. I felt his eye was upon me — his 
sharp and piercing glance, that shot like an arrow into me ; and his 
firm look stared at me in every object about me. 

Onward I pressed, feeling in the very recklessness of my course 
some relief to my sense of shame, and ardently hoping that some 
accident — some smashed arm, or broken collar-bone — might befall 
me, and rescue me from any notice my conduct might otherwise 
call for. I never drew rein till I reached the Villa Formosa, and 
pulled up short at a small cottage, where a double sentry apprized 
me of the general’s quarters. As I came up, the low lattice sprang 
quickly open, and a figure, half-dressed, and more than half asleep, 
protruded his head : 

^‘Well! what has happened? Any thing wrong?” said he, 
whom I now recognised to be General Crawford. 

‘‘No; nothing wrong, sir,” stammered I with evident confu- 
sion : “ I merely came to thank you for your kindness in my 
behalf.” 

“ You seemed in a devil of a hurry to do it, if I’m to judge by 
the pace you came at. Come in and take your breakfast with us , 
I shall be dressed presently, and you’ll meet some of your brother 
aids-de-camp.” 

Having given my horse to an orderly, I walked into a little room 
whose humble accommodations and unpretending appearance 
seemed in perfect keeping with the simple and unostentatious 
character of the general. The preparations for a good and sub- 
stantial breakfast were before me ; and an English newspaper of a 
late date spread its most ample pages to welcome me. I had not 
been long absorbed in my reading when the door opened, and the 
general, whgse toilet was not yet completed, made his appear- 
ance. 

“Egad, O’Malley, you startled me this morning : I thought we 
were in for it again.” 

I took this as the most seasonable opportunity to recount mv 
mishap of the morning, and accordingly, without more ado, de- 
tailed the unlucky meeting with the commander-in-chief. When I 
came to the end, Crawford threw himself into a chair and laughed 
till the very tears coursed down his bronzed features. 

“You don’t say so, boy? You don’t really tell me you said 
that? By Jove, I had rather have faced a platoon of musketry 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


147 


than have stood in your shoes ! You did not wait for a reply, I 
think 

No, faithy.sir, that I did not 

“ Do you suspect he knows you ?” 

“ I trust not, sir, the whole thing passed so rapidly.” 

‘‘ Well, it’s most unlucky, in more ways than one !” He pausea 
for a few moments as he said this, and then added, “ Have you 
seen the general order ?” pushing toward me a written paper as he 
spoke. It ran thus : 

“ G. 0. “ Adjutant-General’s Office, Villa Formosa, 6th May, 1811. 

“ Memorandum. — Commanding Officers are requested to send 
in to the Military Secretary, as soon as possible, the names of 
Officers they may wish to have promoted in succession to those 
who have fallen in action.” 

“Now look at this list. The Honourable Harvey Howard, 

Grenadier Guards, to be first lieutenant, vice . No, not that : 

Henry Beauchamp — George Villiers. Ay, here it is ! Captain 
Lyttleton, 14th Light Dragoons, to be Major in the 3d Dragoon 
Guards, vice Godwin, killed in action ; Lieutenant O’Malley to be 
Captain, vice Lyttleton, promoted. You see, boy, I did not forget 
you: you were to have the vacant troop in your own regiment. 
Now, I almost doubt the prudence of bringing your name under 
Lord Wellington’s notice ! He may have recognised you ; and, 
if he did so — why, I rather think — that is, I suspect — I mean, the 
quieter you keep the better.” 

While I poured forth my gratitude as warmly as I was able for 
the general’s great kindness to me, I expressed my perfect concur- 
rence in his views. 

“ Believe me, sir,” said I, “ I should rather wait any number of 
years for my promotion, than incur the risk of a reprimand ; the 
more so, as it is not the first time I have blundered with his lord- 
ship.” I here narrated my former meeting with Sir Arthur, at 
which Crawford’s mirth again burst forth, and he paced the room, 
holding his sides in an ecstasy of merriment. 

“ Come, come, lad, we’ll hope for the best ; we’ll give you the 
chance that he has not seen your face, and send the list forward as 
it is : but here come our fellows.” 

As he spoke, the door opened and three of his staff entered, to 
whom, being severally introduced, we chatted away about the 
news of the morning until breakfast. 

“ I’ve frequently heard of you from my friend Hammersly,” 
said Captain Fitzroy, addressing me; “you were intimately ap 
quainted, I believe?” 

“0, yes! Pray where is he now? We have not met for a 
long time.” 

“ Poor Fred’s invalided ; tliat sabre cut upon his head has turned 


148 


CHARLES o’mALLET, 


out a sad affair, and he’s gone back to England on a sick leave. 
Old Dashvvood took him back with him as a private secretary or 
something of that sort.” 

“ Ah !” said another, Dashwood has daughters, hasn’t he ? 
No bad notion of his, for Hammersly will be a baronet one of 
these days, with a rent roll of some eight or nine thousand per 
annum.” 

‘‘ Sir George Dashwood,” said I, has but one daughter, and I 
am quite sure that in his kindness to Hammersly, no intentions 
of the kind you mention were mixed up.” 

“Well, I don’t know,” said the third, a pale, sickly youth, with 
handsome but delicate features. “ I was on Dashwood’s staff 
until a few weeks ago, and certainly I thought there was some- 
thing going on between Fred and Miss Lucy, Avho, be it spoken, 
is a devilish fine girl, though rather disposed to give herself 
airs.” 

I felt my cheek and my temples boiling like a furnace; my hand 
trembled as I lifted my coffee to my lips ; and I would have given 
my expected promotion twice over to have had any reasonable 
ground of quarrel with the speaker. 

“ Egad, lads,” said Crawford, “ that’s the very best thing I 
know about a command. As a bishop is always sure to portion 
off his daughters with deaneries and rectories, so your knowing 
old general always marries his among his staff.” 

This sally was mat with the ready laughter of the subordinates, 
with which, however little disposed, I was obliged to join. 

“You are quite right, sir,” rejoined the pale youth; “and Sir 
George has no fortune to, give his daughter.” 

“ How came it, Horace, that you escaped ?” said Fitzroy, with 
a certain air of affected seriousness in his voice and manner ; “ I 
wonder they let such a prize escape them.” 

“ Well, it was not exactly their fault, I do confess. Old Dash- 
wood did the civil toward me ; and /a belle Lucie herself was con- 
descending enough to be less cruel than to the rest of the staff. 
Her father threw us a good deal together ; and, in fact, I believe 
— I fear — that is — that I didn’t behave quite well.” 

“You may rest perfectly assured of it, sir,” said I; “whatever 
your previous conduct may have been, you have completely re- 
lieved your mind on this occasion, and behaved most ill.” 

Had a shell fallen in the midst of us, the faces around me could 
not have been more horror-struck, than when, in a cool, deter- 
mined tone, I spoke these few words. Fitzroy pushed his chair 
slightly back from the table, and fixed his eyes full upon me : 
Crawford grew dark purple over his whole face and forehead, and 
looked from one to the other of us, without speaking ; while the 
Honourable Horace Delawar, the individual addressed, never 
changed a muscle of his wan and sickly features, but, lifting his 
eyes slowly from his muffin, lisped softly out — 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


149 


You think so ? How very good !” 

“ General Crawford/’ said I, the moment I could collect myself 
sufficiently to speak, “ I am deeply grieved that I should have so 
far forgotten myself as to disturb the harmony of your table ; but 
when I tell you that Sir George Dash wood is one of my warmest 
friends on earth ; that from my intimate knowledge of him, I am 
certain that gentleman’s statements are either the mere outpourings 
of folly, or worse ” 

By Jove, O’Malley, you have a very singular mode of ex- 
plaining away the matter. Delawar, sit down again. Gentlemen, 
I have only one word to say about this transaction : I’ll have no 
squabbles nor broils here ; from this room to the guard-house is a 
five minutes’ walk : promise me, upon your honours, this alterca- 
tion ends here, or as sure as my name’s Crawford, you shall be 
placed under arrest, and the man who refuses to obey me shall be 
sent back to England.” 

Before I well knew in what way to proceed, Mr. Delawar rose, 
and bowed formally to the general, while I, imitating his example 
silently, we resumed our places ; and, after a pause of a few mo- 
ments, the current of conversation was resumed, and other topics 
discussed, but with such awkwardness and constraint, that all 
parties felt relieved when the general rose from the table. 

I say, O’Malley, have you forwarded the returns to the adju- 
tant-general’s office ?” 

‘‘ Yes, sir ; I despatched them this morning before leaving my 
quarters.” 

' I’m glad of it ; the irregularities on this score have called forth 
a heavy reprimand at head-quarters.” 

I was also glad of it ; and it chanced that by mere accident I 
remembered to charge Mike with the papers, which, had they not 
been lying unsealed upon the table before me, would, in all likeli- 
hood, have escaped my attention. The post started to Lisbon 
that same morning, to take advantage of which I had sat up 
writing for half the night. Little was I aware, at the moment, 
what a mass of trouble and annoyance was in store for me from 
the circumstance. 


150 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


CHAPTER XXV 

ALMEIDA. 

On the morning of the 7th, we perceived, from a movement in 
the French camp, that the wounded were being sent to the rear, 
and shortly afterward the main body of their army commenced its 
retreat. They moved off with slow, and, as it were, reluctant 
steps ; and Bessieres, who commanded the Imperial Guards, turned 
his eyes more than once to that position which all the bravery of 
his troops was unavailing to capture. Although our cavalry lay 
in force to the front of our line, no attempt was made to molest 
the retreating French ; and Massena, having retired beyond the 
Aguada, left a strong force to watch the ford, while the remainder 
of the army fell back upon Ciudad Rodrigo. 

During this time we had succeeded in fortifying our position at 
Fuentes D’Onoro so strongly as to resist any new attack; and 
Lord Wellington now turned his whole attention to the blockade 
of Almeida, which, by Massena’s retreat, was abandoned to its 
fate. . 

On the morning of the 10th, I accompanied General Crawford 
in a reconnoissance of the fortress, which, from the intelligence we 
had lately received, could not much longer hold out against our 
blockade. The fire from the enemy’s artillery was, however, 
hotly maintained ; and, as night fell, some squadrons of the four- 
teenth, who were picketed near, were unable to light their watch- 
fires, being within reach of their shot. As the darkness increased, 
so did the cannonade, and the bright flashes from the walls, and 
the deep booming of the artillery became incessant. 

A hundred conjectures were afloat to account for the cir- 
cumstance ; some asserting that what we heard were mere signals 
to Massena’s army ; and other’s, that Brennier was destroying 
and mutilating the fortress before he evacuated it to the al- 
lies. 

It was a little past midnight, when, tired from the fatigues of 
the day, I had fallen asleep beneath a tree, an explosion louder 
than any which preceded it burst suddenly forth, and, as I awoke 
and looked about me, I perceived the whole heavens illumined by 
one bright glare, while the crashing noises of falling stones and 
crumbling masonry, told me that a mine had been sprung: the 
moment after ail was calm, and still, and motionless; a thick 
black smoke, increasing the sombre darkness of the night, shut 
out every star from view, and some drops of heavy rain began 
to fall. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


151 


The silence, ten times more appalling than the din which had 
preceded it, weighed heavily upon my senses, and a dread of some 
unknown danger crept over me : the exhaustion, however, was 
greater than my fear, and again I sank into slumber. 

Scarcely had I been half an hour asleep when the blast of a trum- 
pet again awoke me, and I found, amid the confusion and excite- 
ment about, that something of importance had occurred. Ques- 
tions were eagerly asked on all sides, but no one could explain 
what had happened. Toward the town all was still as death, but 
a dropping, irregular fire of musketry issued from the valley beside 
the Aguada. What can this mean ? what can it be ?” we asked 
of each other. sortie from the garrison,’^ said one ; A night 
attack by Massena’s troops,’’ cried another and, while thus we 
disputed and argued, a horseman was heard coming along the road 
at the top of his speed. 

Where are the cavalry ?” cried a voice I recognised as one of 
my brother aids-de-camp. “ Where are the fourteenth ?” 

A cheer from our party answered his question ; and the next 
moment, breathless and agitated, he rode in among us. 

“ What is it ? are we attacked ?” 

“ Would to heaven that were all. But come along, lads ; follow 
me.” 

“ What can it be then ?” said I* again, while my anxiety knew 
no bounds. 

Brennier has escaped : burst his way through Pack’s division : 
and has already reached Valde Mula.” 

The French have escaped,” was repeated from mouth to mouth, 
while, pressing spurs to our horses, we broke into a gallop, and 
dashed forward in the direction of the musketry We soon came 
up with the thirty-sixth infantry, who, having thrown away their 
knapsacks, w^re rapidly pressing the pursuit. The maledictions 
which burst from every side, proving how severely the misfortune 
was felt by all, while the eager advance of the men bespoke hov/ 
ardently they longed to repair the mishap. 

Dark as was the night, we passed them in a gallop, when sud- 
denly the officer who commanded the leading squadron, called out 
to halt. 

“ Take care there, lads,” cried he ; I hear the infantry before 
us ; we shall be down upon our own people.” 

The words were hardly spoken, when a bright flash blazed out 
before us, and. a smashing volley was poured into the squadron. 

‘^The Frencli-i, the French, by Jove !” said Hampden. “ For- 
ward, boys ! charge them !” 

Breaking into open order, to avoid our wounded comrades, seve- 
ral of whom had fallen by the fire, we rode down among them. In 
a moment their order was broken, their ranks pierced, and fresh 
souadrons coming up at the instant, they were sabred to a man. 

After this, the French pursued their march in silence ; and, even 


152 


CHARLES o’mALLET, 


when, assembling in force, we rode down upon their squares, they 
never halted nor fired a shot. At Barba del Puerco, the ground 
being unfit for cavalry, the thirty-sixth took our place, and pressed 
them hotly home. Several of the French were killed, and above 
three hundred taken prisoners ; but our fellows following up the 
pursuit too rashly, came upon an advanced body of Massena’s 
force, drawn up to await and cover Brennier’s retreat ; the result 
was, the loss of above thirty men in killed or wounded. 

Thus were the great efforts of the three preceding days rendered 
fruitless and nugatory. To maintain this blockade. Lord Welling- 
ton, with an inferior force, and a position by no means strong, had 
ventured to give the enemy battle ; and now, by the unskilfulness 
of some, and the negligence of others, were all his combinations 
thwarted, and the French general enabled to march his force 
through the midst of the blockading columns, almost unmolested 
and uninjured. 

Lord Wellington’s indignation was great, as well it might be : 
the prize for which he had contested was torn from his grasp at the 
very moment he had won it ; and although the gallantry of the 
troops in the pursuit might, under other circumstances, have elicited 
eulogium, his only observation on the matter, was a half sarcastic 
allusion to the inconclusive effects of undisciplined bravery. Not- 
withstanding,” says the general order of the day, what has been 
printed in gazettes and newspapers, we have never seen small 
bodies, unsupported, successfully opposed to large : nor has the ex- 
perience of any officer realized the stories which all have read, of 
whole armies being driven by a handful of light infantry and dra- 
goons.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


153 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

A NIGHT IN THE AZARA. 

Massena was now recalled, and Marmont having assumed the 
command of the French army, retired toward Salamanca, while 
our troops went into cantonments upon the Agueda. A period 
of inaction succeeded to our previous life of bustle and excite- 
ment, and the whole interest of the campaign was now centred in 
Beresford’s army, exposed to Soult in Estramadura. 

On the 15th, Lord Wellington set out for that province, having 
already directed a strong force to march upon Badajos. 

“ Well, O^Malley,’’ said Crawford, as he returned from bidding 
Lord Wellington ‘‘ good-by “ your business is all right, the 
commander-in-chief has signed my recommendation, and you will 
get your troop.’’ 

While I continued to express my grateful acknowledgments for 
his kindness, the general, apparently inattentive to all I was 
saying, paced the room with hurried steps, stopping every now 
and then to glance at a large map of Spain which covered one wall 
of the apartment, while he muttered to himself some broken and 
disjointed sentences. 

" “Eight leagues — too weak in cavalry — with the left upon 
Fuenta Grenaldo — a strong position — . O’Malley, you’ll take a 
troop of dragoons and patrol the country toward Castro; you’ll 
reconnoitre the position the sixth corps occupies, but avoid any 
collision with the enemy’s pickets, keeping the Azara between 
you and them. Take rations for three days.” 

“ When shall I set out, sir ?” 

“ Now !” was the reply. 

Knowing with what pleasure the hardy veteran recognised any 
thing like alacrity and despatch, I resolved to gratify him, and, 
before half an hour had elapsed, was ready with my troop to re- 
ceive his final orders. 

“ Well done, boy !” said he, as he came to the door of the 
hut, “ you’ve lost no time. I don’t believe I have any further 
instructions to give you : to ascertain as far as possible the pro- 
bable movement of the enemy is my object, that’s all.” As he 
spoke this, he waved his hand, and wishing me “good-bye,” 
walked leisurely back into the house. I saw that his mind was 
occupied by other thoughts, and, although I desired to obtain some 
more accurate information for my guidance, knowing his dislike 
to questions, I merely returned his salute, and set forth upon my 
journey. 

The ’morning was beautiful ; the sun had risen about an hour, 

VoL. II.— 20 


154 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


and the earth, refreshed by the heavy dew of the night, was 
breathing forth all its luxuriant fragrance. The river, which 
flowed beside us, was clear as crystal, showing beneath its eddying 
current the shining pebbly bed, while upon the surface the water- 
lilies floated, or sank, as the motion of the stream inclined. The 
tall cork trees spread their shadows about us, and the richly plumed 
birds hopped from branch to branch, awaking the echoes with their 
notes. 

It is but seldom that the heart of man is thoroughly attuned to 
the circumstances of the scenery around him. How often do we 
need a struggle with ourselves to enjoy the rich and beautiful 
landscape which lies smiling in its freshness before us ! How 
frequently do the blue sky and the calm air look down upon the 
heart darkened and shadowed with aMiction ! and how often have 
we felt the discrepancy between the lowering look of winter and 
the glad sunshine of our own hearts ! The harmony of the world 
without, with our thoughts within, is one of the purest, as it is one 
of the greatest sources of happiness. Our hopes and our ambition 
lose their selfish charactei ^en feeling that fortune smiles upon 
us from all around, and the flattery which speaks to our hearts 
from the bright stars and the bine sky, is greater in it^ mute elo- 
quence than all the tongue of man can tell us of 

This feeling did I experience in all its fulness, as I ruminated 
upon my bettered fortunes, and felt within myself that secret 
instinct that tells of happiness to come. In such moods of mind 
my thoughts strayed ever homeward, and I could not help con- 
fessing how little were all my successes in my eyes, did I not hope 
for the day when I should pour forth my tale of war and battle- 
field to the ears of those who loved me. 

I resolved to write home at once to my uncle. I longed to tell 
him each incident of my career, and my heart glowed as I thought 
over the broken and disjointed sentences which every cottier 
around would whisper of my fortunes, far prouder as they would 
be in the humble deeds of one they knew, than in the proudest 
triumphs of a nation’s glory. 

Indeed, Mike himself gave the current to my thoughts. After 
riding beside me for some time in silence, he remarked — 

And isn’t it Father Rush will be proud when he sees your 
honour’s a captain ; to think of the little boy that he used to take 
before him on the ould gray mare for a ride down the avenue, to 
think of him being a real captain, six feet two without boots, 
and galloping over the French as if they were lurchers. Peggy 
Mahon, that nursed you, will be the proud woman the day she 
hears it; and there won’t be a soldier sober in his quarters that 
night in Portumna barracks. ’Pon my soul, there’s not a thing 
with a red coat on it, if it was even a scarecrow to frighten the 
birds from the barley, that won’t be treated with respect when 
they hear of the news.” 


THE IIIKH DRAGOON. 


155 


The country tlirough which we travelled was marked at every 
step by the traces of a retreating army ; the fields of rich corn lay 
flattened beneath the tramp of cavalry or the wheels of the bag- 
gage wagons; the roads, cut up and nearly impassable, were 
studded here and there with marks which indicated a bivouac: 
at the same time every thing around bore a very different aspect 
from what we had observed in Portugal; there the vindictive 
cruelty of the French soldier had been seen in full sway. The 
ruined chateaux, the burned villages, the desecrated altars, the 
murdered peasantry — all attested the revengeful spirit of a beaten 
and baffled enemy. No sooner, however, had they crossed the 
frontiers, than, as if by magic, their character became totally 
changed. Discipline and obedience succeeded to recklessness and 
pillage ; and, instead of treating the natives with inhumanity and 
cruelty, in all their intercourse with the Spaniards the French be- 
haved with moderation and even kindness. Paying for every 
thing, obtaining their billets peaceably and quietly, marching with 
order and regularity, they advanced into the heart of the country, 
showing, by the most irrefragable proof, the astonishing evidences 
of a discipline which, by a word, could convert the lawless irre- 
gularities of a ruffian soldiery into the orderly habits and obedient 
conduct of a highly organized army. 

As we neared the Azara, the tracks of the retiring enemy be- 
came gradually less perceptible, and the country, uninjured by the 
march, extended for miles around us in all the richness and abun- 
dance of a favoured climate. The tall corn waving its yellow gold, 
reflected like a sea the clouds that moved slowly above it. The 
wild gentian and the laurel grew thickly around, and the cattle 
stood basking in the clear streams, while some listless peasant 
lounged upon the bank beside them. Strange as all these evi- 
dences of peace and tranquillity were so near to the devastating 
track of a mighty army, yet I have more than once witnessed the 
fact, and remarked how, but a short distance from the line of our 
hurried march, the country lay untouched and uninjured; and, 
though the clank of arms, and the dull roll of the artillery, may 
have struck upon the ear of the far-olf dweller in his native valley, 
he listened as he would have done to the passing thunder as it 
crashed above him, and when the bright sky and pure air succeeded 
to the louring atmosphere, and the darkening storm, he looked 
forth upon his smiling fields and happy home, while he muttered 
to his heart a prayer of thanksgiving that the scourge was 
passed. 

We bivouacked upon the bank of the Azara. a truly Salvator 
Rosa scene ; the rocks, towering high above us, were fissured by 
the channel of many a trickling stream, seeking in its zigzag cur- 
rent the bright river below. The dark pine tree and the oak 
mingled their foliage with the graceful cedar, which spread its fan- 
like branches about us. Through the thick shade some occasional 


156 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


glimpses of a starry sky could yet be seen, and a faint yellow 
streak upon the silent river told that the queen of night was 
there. 

When I had eaten my frugal supper, I wandered forth alone 
upon the bank of the stream, now standing to watch its bold sweeps 
as it traversed the lonely valley before me, now turning to catch a 
passing glance at our red watch-fires and the hardy features which 
sat round. The hoarse and careless laugh, the deep toned voice 
of some old campaigner, holding forth his tale of flood and field, 
were the only sounds I heard ; and gradually I strolled beyond the 
reach of even these. The path beside the river, which seemed 
scarped from the rock, was barely sufficient for the passage of one 
man, — a rude balustrade of wood being the only defence against 
the precipice which, from a height of full thirty feet, looked down 
upon the stream. Here and there some broad gleam of moonlight 
would fall upon the opposite bank, which, unlike the one I occu- 
pied, stretched out into rich meadow and pasturage, broken by 
occasional clumps of lilex and beech. River scenery had been 
ever a passion with me. I can glory in the bold and broken out- 
line of a mighty mountain ; I can gaze with delighted eyes upon 
the boundless sea, and know not whether to like it more in all the 
mighty outpouring of its wrath, when the white waves lift their 
heads to. heaven, and break themselves in foam upon the rocky 
beach, or in the calm beauty of its broad and mirrored surface, in 
which the bright world of sun and sky are seen full many a 
fathom deep. But far before these, I love the happy and tranquil 
beauty of some bright river, tracing its winding current through 
valley and through plain, now spreading into some calm and wave- 
less lake, now narrowing to an eddying stream, with mossy rocks 
and waving trees darkening over it. There’s not a hut, however 
lowly, where the net of the fisherman is stretched upon the sward 
around, around whose hearth I do not picture before me, the faces 
of happy toil and humble contentment, while, from the ruined 
tower upon the crag, methinks I hear the ancient sounds of wassail 
and of welcome ; and, though the keep is fissured and the curtain 
fallen, and though for banners there waves some tall wall flower,” 
I can people its crumbling walls with images of the past ; and the 
merry laugh of the warder, and the clanking tread of the mailed 
warrior, are as palpably before me as the tangled lichen that now 
trails from its battlements. 

As I wandered on, I reached a little rustic stair, which'led down- 
ward from the path to the river side ; and, on examining further, 
perceived that in this place the stream was fordable : a huge flat 
rock filling up a great part of the river’s bed, occupied the middle, 
on either side of which the current ran with increased force. 

Bent upon exploring, I descended the cliff, and was preparing to 
cross, when my attention was attracted by the twinkle of a fire at 
some distance from me, on the opposite side ; the flame rose and 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


157 


fell in fitful flashes, as though some hand were ministering to it at 
the moment : as it was impossible, from the silence on every side, 
that it could proceed from a bivouac of the enemy, I resolved 
on approaching it apd examining it for myself. I knew that the 
shepherds in remote districts were accustomed thus to pass the sum- 
mer nights, with no other covering save the blue vault above them. 
It was not impossible, too, that it might prove a guerilla party, who 
frequently, in small numbers, hang upon the rear of a retreating 
army. Thus conjecturing, I crossed the stream, and, quickening my 
pace, walked forward in the direction of the blaze. Fora moment a 
projecting rock obstructed my progress ; and, while I was devising 
some means of proceeding further, the sound of voices near me 
arrested my attention. I listened, and what was my astonishment 
to hear that they spoke in French ; I now crept cautiously to the 
verge of the rock, and looked over : the moon was streaming in 
its full brilliancy upon a little shelving strand beside the stream ; 
and here I now beheld the figure of a French officer. He was 
habited in the undress uniform of chasseur cheval, but wore no 
arms ; indeed, his occupation at the moment was any thing but a 
warlike one, he being leisurely employed in collecting some flasks 
of champagne, which apparently had been left to cool within the 
stream. 

Eh bien, Jilphonse!^' said a voice in the direction of the fire, 
“ what are you delaying for ?” “ Pm coming ; Pm coming,” said 
the other ; par Dieu! I can only find five of our bottles ; one 
seems to have been carried away by the stream.” “ No matter,” 
replied the other, we are but three of us, and one is, or should be, 
on the sick list.” 

The only answer to this was the muttered chorus of a French 
drinking song, interrupted at intervals by an imprecation on the 
missing flask. It chanced, at this moment, a slight clinking noise 
attracted me, and, on looking down, I perceived at the foot of the 
rock the prize he sought for. It had been, as he conceived, carried 
away by an eddy of the stream, and was borne, as a true prisoner 
of war, within my grasp. I avow that from this moment my in- 
terest in the scene became considerably heightened : such a waif 
as a bottle of champagne, was not to be despised in circumstances 
like mine ; and I watched with anxious eyes every gesture of the 
impatient Frenchman, and alternately vibrated between hope and 
fear, as he neared or receded from the coveted flask. 

Let it go to the devil,” shouted his companion once more, 
‘^Jacques has lost all patience with you.” 

‘‘Be it so, then,” said the other, as he prepared to take up his 
burden. At this instant I made a slight effort so to change my po- 
sition as to obtain a view of the rest of the party. The branch 
by which I supported myself, however, gave way beneath my 
grasp with a loud crash. I lost my footing, and, slipping down- 
ward from the rock, came plump into the stream below. The 

0 


158 


CHARLES o’mALLET, 


noise, the splash, and, more than all, the sudden appearance of a 
man beside him, astounded the Frenchman, who almost let fall his 
pannier, and thus we stood, confronting each other, for at least a 
couple of minutes in silence. A hearty burst of laughter from 
both parties terminated this awkward moment, while the French- 
man, with the readiness of his country, was the first to open the 
negotiation. 

“ Sacre Dieic ! ” said he, what can you be doing here ? You’re 
English, without doubt.” 

Even so,” said I ; “but that is the very question I was about 
to ask you ; what are you doing here ? ” 

“A’A bieii ! ” replied the other, gayly, “ you shall be answered in 
all frankness. Our captain was wounded in the action of the eighth, 
and we heard had been carried up the country by some peasants. 
As the army fell back, we obtained permission to go in search of 
him : for two days all was fruitless ; the peasantry fled at our 
approach ; and, although we captured some of our stolen property, 
among other things the contents of this basket, yet we never came 
upon the track of our comrade till this evening. A good-hearted 
shepherd had taken him to his hut, and treated him with every 
kindness, but no sooner did he hear the gallop of our horses, and 
the clank of our equipments, than, fearing himself to be made a 
prisoner, he fled up the mountains, leaving our friend behind him : 
Vola notre histoire. Here we are, three in all, one of us with a 
deep sabre cut in his shoulder. If you are the stronger party, we 

are, I suppose, your prisoners ; if not ” 

What was to have followed I know not, for at this moment his 
companion, who had finally lost all patience, came suddenly to the 
spot. 

“A prisoner,” cried he, placing a heavy hand upon my shoulder, 
while with the other he held his drawn sword pointed toward my 
breast. 

To draw a pistol from my bosom was the work of a second ; and 
while gently turning the point of his weapon away, I coolly said — 
“ Not so fast, my friend, not so fast ! The game is in my hands, 
not yours. I have only to pull this trigger, and my dragoons are 
upon you ; whatever fate befall me, yours is certain.” 

A half scornful laugh betrayed the incredulity of him I addressed, 
while the other, apparently anxious to relieve the awkwardness of 
the moment, suddenly broke in with — 

“ He is right, Auguste, and you are wrong ; we are in his power ; 
that is,” added he, smiling, “ if he believes there is any triumph in 
capturing swoh pauvres diables as ourselves.” 

The features of him he addressed suddenly lost their scornful 
expression, and sheathing his sword with an air of almost melo- 
dramatic solemnity, he gravely pulled up his mustaches, and, after 
a pause of a few seconds, solemnly ejaculated a malediction upon 
his fortune. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


159 


^^C’est toujours la meme chose, said he, with a bitterness that 
only a Frenchman can convey when cursing his destiny. 

‘‘Soyez bon enfant, and see what will come of it. Only be good- 
natured, only be kind, and if you have n’t bad luck at the end of 
it, it ’s only because fortune has a heavier stroke in reserve for you 
hereafter.” 

I could not help smiling at the Frenchman’s philosophy, which, 
assuming as a good augury, he gayly said, “ So, then, you’ll not 
make us prisoners. Is n’t it so ? ” 

‘‘ Prisoners,” said the other : nothing of the kind. Come and 
sup with us, I ’ll venture to say our larder is as well stocked as 
your own : in any case an omelette, a cold chicken, and a glass of 
champaigne are not bad things in our circumstances.” 

I could not help laughing outright at the strangeness of the pro- 
posal. ‘‘ I fear I must decline,” said 1 ; “ you seem to forget I am 
placed here to watch, not to join you.” 

la honheurf cried the younger of the two : “ do both. 
Come along ; soyez hon comrade ; you are always near your own 
people, so do n’t refuse us.” 

In proportion as I declined they both became more pressing in 
their entreaties, and, at last, I began to dread lest my refusal might 
seem to proceed from some fear as to the gbod faith of the invitation, 
and I never felt so awkwardly placed as when one plumply pressed 
me by saying — 

^^Mais pourquoi pas ? mon cher.^^ 

I stammered out something about duty and discipline, when they 
both interrupted me by a long burst of laughter. 

Come, come ! said they ; “ in an hour — in half an hour, if you 
will — you shall be back with your own people. We’ve had plenty 
of fighting latterly, and we are likely to have enough in future : 
we know something of each other by this time in the field j let us see 
how we get on in the bivouac ! ” 

Resolving not to be outdone in generosity, I replied at once. 

Here goes then ! ” 

Five minutes afterward I found myself seated at their bivouac 
fire. The captain, who was the oldest of the party, was a fine 
soldier-like fellow of some forty years old: he had served in the 
Imperial Guard through all the campaigns of Italy and Austria, 
and abounded in anecdotes of the French army. From him I 
learned many of those characteristic traits which so eminently dis- 
tinguish the imperial troops, and saw how completely their bravest 
and boldest feats of arms depended upon the personal valor of him 
who led them on. From the daring enterprise of Napoleon at Lodi 
to the conduct of the lowest corporal in the grande armee, the pic- 
ture presents nothing but a series of brilliant and splendid chivalry ; 
while at the same time, the warlike character of the nation is dis- 


160 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


played by that instinctive appreciation of courage and daring which 
teaches them to follow their officers to the very cannon’s mouth. 

It was at Elchingen,” said the captain, “ you should have seen 
them. The regiment in which I was a lieutenant was ordered 
to form close column ; and, charging through a narrow ravine to 
carry a brigade of guns, which, by a flanking fire, were devastating 
our troops. Before we could reach the causeway, we were obliged 
to pass an open plain in which the ground dipped for about a hun- 
dred yards ; the column moved on, and, though it descended one 
hill, not a man ever mounted the opposite one. A very avalanche 
of balls swept the entire valley ; and yet, amid the thunder and the 
smoke, the red glare of the artillery, and the carnage around them, 
our grenadiers marched firmly up. At last. Marshal Ney sent an 
aid-de-camp with orders to the troops to lay flat down, and in this 
position the artillery played over us for above half an hour. The 
Austrians gradually slackened and finally discontinued their fire : 
this was a moment to resume the attack. I crept cautiously to my 
knees and looked about. One word brought my men around me ; 
but I found to my horror that of a battallion who came into action 
fourteen hundred strong, not five hundred remained ; and that I 
myself, a mere lieutenant, was now the senior officer of the regi- 
ment. Our gallant colonel lay dead beside my feet. At this instant 
a thought struck me. I remembered a habit he possessed, in mo- 
ments of difficulty and danger, of placing in his shako a small red 
plume which he commonly carried in his belt. I searched for it, 
and found it. As 1 held it aloft a maddening cheer burst around 
me, while from out the line each officer sprang madly forward and 
rushed to the head of the column. It was no longer a march : with 
a loud cry of vengeance the mass rushed forward, the men trying to 
outstrip their officers, and come first in contact with the foe. Like 
tigers on the spring, they fell upon the enemy, who, crushed, over- 
whelmed, and massacred, lay in slaughtered heaps around the 
cannon ; the cavalry of the guard came thundering on behind us, 
a whole division followed, and three thousand five hundred prison- 
ers and fourteen pieces of artillery were captured. 

“ I sat upon the carriage of a gun, my face begrimed with powder, 
and my uniform blackened and blood stained ; the whole thing 
appeared like some shocking dream. I felt a hand upon my 
shoulder while a rough voice called in my ear, ^Capitaine, du 
soixante neuvieme ! tu es mon frere’ ” 

It was Ney who spoke. This,” added the brave captain, his 
eyes filling as he said the words, “ and this is the sabre he gave 
me.” 

I know not why I have narrated this anecdote, it has little in 
itself, but somehow to me it brings back in all its fulness the recol- 
lection of that night. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


161 


There was something so strongly characteristic of the old Napo- 
leonist in the tone of his narrative that I listened throughout with 
breathless attention. I began to feel too, for the first time, what a 
powerful arm in war the emperor had created by fostering the 
spirit of individual enterprise. The field thus opened to fame and 
distinction, left no bounds to the ambition of any. The humble 
conscript, as he tore himself from the embraces of his mother, 
wiped his tearful eyes to see before him in the distance the baton 
of a marshal. The bold soldier who stormed a battery felt his 
heart beat more proudly and more securely beneath the cordon of 
the legion than behind a cuirasse of steel, and to a people in whom 
the sense of duty alone would seem cold, barren, and inglorious, he 
had substituted the highly-wrought chivalrous enthusiasm, and by 
XhQ prestige of his own name, the proud memory of his battles, and 
the glory of those mighty tournaments at which all Europe were 
the spectators, he had converted a nation into an army. 

By a silent and instinctive compact, we appeared to avoid those 
topics of the campaign in which the honor of our respective arms 
was interested ; and once, when by mere accident, the youngest of 
the party adverted to Fuentes d’Onoro, the old captain adroitly 
turned the current of the conversation by saying, Come, Alphonse, 
let’s have a song.” 

‘•Yes,” said the other, ^^Le pas de chargeP 

“ No, no,” said the captian ; “ if I am to have a choice, let it be 
the little Breton song you gave us on the Danube.” 

“ So be it, then,” said Alphonse. “ Here goes.” 

I have endeavored to convey, by a translation, the words he 
sang ; but I feel conscious how totally their feeling and simplicity 
are lost when deprived of their own patois, and the wild but 
touching melody that accompanied them. 

“ When the battle is o’er, and the sounds of fight 
Have closed with the closing day, 

How happy, around the watch-fire’s light. 

To chat the long hours away ; 

To chat the long hours away, my boy. 

And talk of the days to come. 

Or a better still, and a purer joy. 

To think of our far off home. 


“ How many a cheek will then grow pale. 

That never felt a tear! 

And many a stalwart heart will quail, 

That never quailed in fear ! 

And the breast that, like some mighty rock 
Amid the foaming sea. 

Bore high against the battle’s shock. 

Now heaves like infancy. 


162 CHARLES o’mALLEY, 

Y “And those who knew each other not, i 

Their hands together steal, , ^ 

• ‘ Each think of some long hallowed spot, t 

^ And all like brothers feel : 

. ' Such holy thoughts to all are given; 

The lowliest has his part ; ■ y . ' 

The love of home, like love of heaven. 

Is woven in our heart.” 

/ 

There was a pause as he concluded, each sunk in his 
reflections. 

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163 


the' IRISH DRAGOON. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

A NIGHT IN THE AZARA. 

How long we should have thus remained, I know not; but we 
were speedily aroused by the tramp of horses near us. We lis- 
tened, and could plainly detect in their rude voices and coarse 
laughter the approach of a body of guerillas. We looked from 
one to the other in silence and fear. Nothing could be more un- 
fortunate should we be discovered. Upon this point we were left 
little time to deliberate; for, with a loud cheer, four Spanish horse- 
men galloped up to the spot, their carbines in the rest. The French- 
men sprang to their feet and seized their sabres, bent on making a 
resolute resistance. As for me, my determination was at once 
taken. Remaining quietly seated upon the grass, I stirred not for 
a moment, but, addressing him who appeared to be the chief of 
the guerillas, said in Spanish — 

These are my prisoners ; I am a British officer of dragoons, 
and my party is yonder.’’ 

This evidently unexpected declaration seemed to surprise them, 
and they conferred for a few rnoiiients together. Meanwhile, they 
were joined by two others, in one of whom we could recognise, 
by his costume, the real leader of the party. 

I am captain in the light dragoons,” said I, repeating my de- 
claration. 

Morte de Dios !” replied he ; it is fal^e ; you are a spy !” 

The word was repeated from lip to lip by his party, and I saw 
in their louring looks and darkening features, that the moment 
was a critical one for me. 

“ Down with your arras !” cried he, turning to the Frenchmen : 

Surrender yourselves our prisoners; I’ll not bid ye twice !” 

The Frenchmen turned upon me an inquiring look, as though 
to say that upon me now their hopes entirely reposed. 

Do as he bids you,” said I ; while at the same moment I 
sprang to my legs, and gave a loud shrill whistle, the last echo of 
which had not died away in the distance, ere it was replied to. 

''Make no resistance now,” said I to the Frenchmen, "our 
safety depends upon this.” 

While this was passing, two of the Spaniards had dismounted, 
and, detaching a coil of rope which hung from their saddle peak, 
were proceeding to tie the prisoners wrist to wrist, the others, with 
their carbines to the shoulder, covered us man by man, the chief 
of the party having singled out me as his peculiar prey. 

" The fate of Mascarhenhas might have taught you better,” said 
he, " than to play this game ;” and then added, with a grim smile, ' 


164 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


“ but we’ll see if an Englishman will not make as good a car- 
bonado as a Portuguese 

This cruel speech made my blood run cold, for I knew well to 
what he alluded. I was at Lisbon at the time it happened ; but 
the melancholy fate of Julian Mascarhenhas, the Portuguese spy, 
had reached me there. He was burnt to death at Torres Vedras ! 

The Spaniard’s triumph over my terror was short-lived indeed ; 
for scarcely had the words fallen from his lips, when a party of the 
fourteenth, dashing through the river at a gallop, came riding up. 
The attitude of the guerillas, as they sat with presented arms, was 
sufficient for my fellows, who needed not the exhortation of him 
who rode foremost of the party — 

“ Ride them down, boys ! Tumble them over ! Flatten their 
broad beavers, the infernal thieves !” 

Whoop !” shouted Mike, as he rode at the chief, with the force 
of a catapult. Down went the Spaniard, horse and all, and, be- 
fore he could disentangle himself, Mike was upon him, his knee 
pressed upon his neck. 

“ Isn’t it enough for ye to pillage the whole country, without 
robbing the king’s throops ?” cried he, as he held him fast to the 
earth, with one hand, while he presented a loaded pistol to his 
face. 

By this time the scene around me was sufficiently ludicrous. 
Such of the guerillas as had not been thrown by force from their 
saddles, had slid peaceably down, and, depositing their arms upon 
the ground, dropped upon their knees in a semicircle around us, 
and, amid the hoarse laughter of the troopers and the irrepressible 
merriment of the Frenchmen, rose up the muttered prayers of the 
miserable Spaniards, who believed their last hour had come. 

^^Madre de Dios, indeed !” cried Mike, imitating the tone of a 
repentant old sinner in a patched mantle; ‘‘it’s much the blessed 
Virgin thinks of the like o’ ye, thieves and rogues as ye are ; it 
a’most puts me beyond my senses, to see you there crossing your- 
selves like rale Christians.” 

I could not help indulging myself in this retributive cruelty 
towards the chief, and leaving him to the tender mercies of Mike, I 
ordered the others to rise and form in a line before me. Affecting to 
occupy myself entirely with them, I withdrew the attention of all 
from the French officers, who remained quiet spectators of the 
scene around them. 

“ There, Mike, let the poor devil rise.” I confess appearances 
were strong against me, just now. “ Well, Capitaine, are you con- 
vinced by this time, that I was not deceiving you ?” 

The guerilla muttered some words of apology between his teeth, 
and while he shook the dust from his cloak, and arranged the 
broken feather of his hat, cast a look of scowling and iiidignant 
meaning upon Mike, whose rough treatment he had evidently not 
forgiven. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


165 


Don’t be looking at me that way, you black thief, or I’ll ” 

“ Hold there !” said I — no more of this. Come, gentlemen, we 
must be friends. If I mistake not, we’ve got something like re- 
freshment at our bivouac. In any case, you’ll partake of our watch- 
fire till morning.” 

They gladly accepted our invitation, and ere half an hour elapsed, 
Mike’s performance in the part of host had completely erased 
every unpleasant impression his first appearance gave rise to ; and 
as for myself, when I did sleep at last, the confused mixture of 
Spanish and Irish airs, which issued from the thicket beside me, 
proved that a most friendly alliance had grown up between the 
parties. 

Point de fagons, gentlemen,” said I, in a whisper. Get to 
your horses and away ! now’s your time ; good-bye !” 

A warm grasp of the hand from each was the only reply, and I 
turned once more to my discomfited friends, the guerillas. 


166 


CHARLES o’MALLEr, 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE ARREST. 

An hour before daybreak the guerillas were in motion, and, 
having taken a most ceremonious leave of us, they mounted their 
horses apd set out upon their journey. I saw their gaunt figures 
wind down the valley, and watched them till they disappeared in 
the distance. Yes, brigands though they be, thought I, there is 
something fine, something heroic, in the spirit of their unrelenting 
vengeance ; the sleuth-hound never followed the lair of his victim 
with a more ravening appetite for blood than they track the retreat- 
ing columns of the enemy. Hovering around the line of march, 
they sometimes swoop down in masses, and carry off a part of the 
baggage, or the wounded. The wearied soldier, overcome by heat 
and exhaustion, who drops behind his ranks, is their certain victim ; 
the sentry on an advanced post is scarcely less so. Whole pickets 
are sometimes attacked and carried ofi:’ to a man ; and, when tra- 
versing the lonely passes of some mountain gorge, or defiling 
through the dense shadows of a wooded glen, the stoutest heart 
has felt a fear, lest from behind the rock that frowned above him, 
or from the leafy thicket, whose branches stirred without a breeze, 
the sharp ring of a guerilla carbine might sound his death-knell. 

It was thus in the retreat upon Corunna fell Colonel Lefebre. 
Ever foremost in the attack upon our rear guard, this gallant youth, 
(he was scarce six-and-twenty,) a colonel of his regiment, and deco- 
rated with the legion of honour, led on every charge of his bold 
“ sabreurs,^^ riding up to the very bayonets of our squares, waiving 
his hat above his head, and seeming actually to court his death- 
wound; but so struck were our brave fellows with his gallant 
bearing, that they cheered him as he came on. 

It was in one of these moments, as, rising high in his stirrups, he 
bore down upon the unflinching ranks of the British infantry, the 
shrill whistle of a ball strewed the leaves upon the road side, the 
exulting shout of a guerilla followed it, and at the same instant 
Lefebre fell forward upon his horse’s mane, a deluge of blood 
bursting from his bosom. A broken cry escaped his lips, a last 
effort to cheer on his men ; his noble charger galloped forward 
betvveen our squares, bearing to us as our prisoner the corpse of 
his rider. 

^‘Captain O’Malley,” said a mounted dragoon to the advanced 
sentry, at the bottom of the little hill upon which I was standing; 
“despatches from head-quarters, sir,” said he, delivering into my 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


167 


hands a large sealed packet from the adjutant-generaPs office. 
While he proceeded to search for another letter of which he was 
the bearer, I broke the seal and read as follows : 

“ Sir, — On the receipt of this order you are directed, having 
previously resigned your command to the officer next in se- 
niority, to repair to head-quarters at Fuentes d^Onoro, there to 
report yourself under arrest. 

I have the honour to be 

“ Your obedient servant, 

‘‘ George Hopeton, 

‘‘ Military Secretary.’’ 

What the devil can this mean ? said I to myself as I read the 
lines over again and again. What have I done lately, or what have 
I left undone to involve me in this scrape ? Ah ! thought I, to be 
sure it can be nothing else. Lord Wellington did recognise me 
that unlucky morning, and has determined not to let me pass un- 
punished. How unfortunate ! scarcely twenty-four hours have 
elapsed since fortune seemed to smile upon me from every side, and 
now the very destiny I most dreaded stares me fully in the face. 
A reprimand, or the sentence of a court-martial, I shrunk from 
with a coward’s fear : it mattered comparatively little from what 
source arising, the injury to my pride as a man and my spirit as a 
soldier, would be almost the same. 

This is the letter, sir,” said the orderly, presenting me with a 
packet, the address of which was in Power’s handwriting. Eager- 
ly tearing it open, I sought for something which might explain my 
unhappy position. It bore the same date as the official letter, and 
ran thus : 

“ My Dear Charley, 

“ I joined yesterday, just in time to enjoy the heartiest laugh I 
have had since our meeting. If notoriety can gratify you, by Jove, 
you have it ; for Charles O’Malley and his man Mickey Free are 
bywords in every mess from Villa Formosa to the rear-guard. As 
it’s only fair you should participate a little in the fun you’ve origin- 
ated, let me explain the cause : Your inimitable man Mike, to 
whom it appears you intrusted the report of killed and wounded 
for the adjutant-general, having just at that moment accomplished 
a letter to his friends at home, substituted his correspondence for 
your returns, and doubtless sent the list of the casualties as very 
interesting information to his sweetheart in Ireland. If such be 
the case, I hope and trust she has taken the blunder in better part 
than old Colbourn, who swears he’ll bring you to a court-martial, 
under heaven knows what charges. In fact, his passion has known 
no bounds since the event ; and a fit of jaundice has given his face 


168 


CHARLES O'MALLEY, 


a kind of neutral tint between green and yellow, like nothing I 
know of except the facings of the ‘dirty half-hundred.’* 

“ As Mr. Free’s letter may be as great a curiosity to you, as it 
has been to us, I enclose you a copy of it, which Hopeton obtained 
for me. It certainly places the estimable Mike in a strong light as 
a despatch-writer. The occasional interruption to the current of 
the letter, you will perceive, arises from Mike having used the pen 
of a comrade, writing being, doubtless, an accomplishment forgot- 
ten in the haste of preparing Mr. Free for the world ; and the 
amanuensis has, in more than one instance, committed to paper 
more than was meant by the author : 

“ ‘ Mrs. M‘Gra : Tear and ages, sure I need not be treating her 
that way. Now just say, Mrs. Mary — ay, that’ll do — Mrs. Mary, 
it’s maybe surprised that you’ll be to be reading a letter from your 
humble servant, sitting on the top of the Alps. Arrah, maybe it’s 
not the Alps ; but sure she’ll never know — foment the whole 
French army, with Bony himself and all his jinnerals — God be 
between us and harm — ready to murther every mother’s son of us, 
av they was able, Molly darlin’ ; but, with the blessing of Provi- 
dence, and Lord Wellington, and Misther Charles, we’ll bate them 
yet, as we bate them afore. 

“ ‘ My lips is wathering at the thought o’ the plunder. I often 
think of Tim Riley, that was hanged for sheep-stealing ; he’d be 
worth his weight in gold here. 

“ ‘ Misther Charles is now captain — devil a less — and myself 
might be somethin’ that same, but ye see I was always of a bash- 
ful nature, and recommended the masther in my place. “ He’s 
mighty young, Mr. Charles is,” says my Lord Wellington to me — 
“ he’s mighty young, Mr. Free.” “ He is, my lord,” says I ; “ he’s 
young, as you obsarve, but he’s as much divilment in him as many 
that might be his father.” “ That’s somethin’, Mr. Free,” says my 
lord ; “ ye say he comes of a good stock.” “ The rale sort, my lord,” 
says I ; “an ould, ancient family, that’s spent every sixpence they 
had in treating their neighbours. My father lived near them for 
years” — you see, Molly, I said that to season the discourse. “ We’ll 
make him a captain,” said my lord ; “but, Mr. Free, could we do 
nothing for you?” “Nothing, at present, my lord. When my 
friends comes into power,” says I, “ they’ll think of me. There’s 
many a little thing to give away in Ireland, and they often find it 
mighty hard to find a man for lord lieutenant; and if that same, 

or a tide-waiter’s place was vacant” “Just tell me,” says my 

lord. “ It’s what I’ll do,” says I. “And now, wishing you happy 
dreams. I’ll take my lave.” Just so, Molly, it’s hand and glove we 
are. A pleasant face, agreeable manners, seasoned with natural 
modesty, and a good pair of legs, them’s the gifts to push a man’s 
way in the world. And even with the ladies — but sure I’m 

* For the information of my unmilitary readers, I may remark that this sobriquet was 
applied to the 50th regiment. 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


169 


forgetting, my masther was proposed for, and your humble servant, 
too, by two illigant creatures in Lisbon ; but it wouldn’t do, Molly 
— it’s higher nor that we’ll be looking — rale princess, the devil a 
less. Tell Kitty Hannigan, I hope she’s well : she was a disarving 
young woman in her situation in life. Shusey Dogherty, at the 
cross-roads, if I don’t forget the name — ^was a good-looking slip 
too, give her my affectionate salutations, as we say in the Portu- 
guese. I hope I’ll be able to bear the inclementuous nature of 
your climate, when I go back ; but I can’t expect to stay long, for 
Lord Wellington can’t get along without me. We play duets on 
the guitar together every evening. The masther is shouting for a 
blanket, so no more at present from 

“Your very affectionate friend, 

“ ‘ Mickey Free. 

“^P. S. — I don’t write this myself, for the Spanish tongue puts 
me out o’ the habit of English. Tell Father Rush, if he’d study the 
Portuguese, I’d use my interest for him with the Bishop of Toledo. 
It’s a country he’d like — no regular stations, but promiscuous eat- 
ing and drinking, and as pretty girls as ever confessed their sins.’ 

“ My poor Charley, I think I’m looking at you. I think I can 
see the struggle between indignation and laughter, which every 
line of this letter inflicts upon you. Get back as quickly as you 
can, and we’ll try if Crawford won’t pull you through the business. 
In any case, expect no sympathy, and if you feel disposed to be 
angry with all who laugh at you, you had better publish a chal- 
lenge in the next General Order. George Scott, of the Greys, bids 
me say, that if you’re hard-up for cash, he’ll give you a couple of 
hundred for Mickey Free. I told him, I thought you’d accept it, 
as your uncle has the breed of those fellows upon his estate, and 
might have no objection to weed his stud. Hammersly’s gone 
back with the Dash woods; but I don’t think you need fear any 
thing in that quarter. At the same time, if you wish for success, 
make a bold push for the peerage, and half-a-dozen decorations, 
for Miss Lucy is decidedly gone wild about military decorations. 
As for me, my affairs go on well; I’ve had half-a-dozen quarrels 
with Inez, but we parted good friends, and my bad Portuguese has 
got me out of all difficulties with papa, who pressed me tolerable 
close as to fortune. I shall want your assistance in this matter yet. If 
parchments would satisfy him, I think I could get up a qualifica- 
tion ; but somehow the matter must be done, for I’m resolved to 
have hrs daughter. 

“The orderly is starting, so no more till we meet. 

“Yours ever, Fred. Power.” 

“ Godwin,” said I, as I closed the letter, “ I find myself in a 


VoL. II.— 22 


P 


170 


CHARLES o’MALLEr, 


scrape at head-quarters : you are to take the command of the de- 
tachment, for I must set out at once.’’ 

‘‘Nothing serious, I hope, O’Malley.” 

“ 0, no, nothing of consequence. A most absurd blunder of my 
rascally servant.” 

“ The Irish fellow yonder ?” 

“ The same.” 

“ He seems to take it easily, however.” 

“ 0, confound him ! he does not know what trouble he has in- 
volved me in ; not that he’ll care much when he does.” 

“Why, he does not seem to be of a very desponding tempera- 
ment. Listen to the fellow ! I’ll be hanged if he’s not sing- 
ing !” 

“ I’m devilishly disposed to spoil his mirth. They tell me, how- 
ever, he always keeps the troop in good humour ; and see, the 
fellows are actually cleaning his horses for him, while he is sitting 
on the bank.” 

“ Faith, O’Malley, that fellow knows the world. Just hear him.” 

Mr. Free was, as Godwin described, most leisurely reposing on 
a bank, a mug of something drinkable beside him, and a pipe of 
that curtailed proportion which an Irishman loves, held daintily 
between his fingers. He appeared to be giving his directions to 
some soldiers of the troop, who were actually cleaning his horses 
and accoutrements for him. 

“That’s it, • Jim ! Rub ’em down along the hocks ; he won’t 
kick ; it’s only play. Scrub away, honey ; that’s the devil’s own 
carbine to get clean ?” 

“Well, I say, Mr. Free, are you going to give us that ere song?” 

“ Yes ; I’ll be danged if I burnish your sabre if you don’t sing.” 

“ Tear and ages ! aint I composin’ it? Av I was Tommy Moore 
I couldn’t be quicker.” 

“ Well, come along, my hearty ; let’s hear it.” 

“ 0, murther !” said Mike, draining the pot to its last few drops, 
which he poured pathetically upon the grass before him, and then, 
having emptied the ashes from his pipe, he heaved a deep sigh, as 
though to say, life had no more pleasures in store for him. A 
brief pause followed, after which, to the evident delight of his 
expectant audience, he began the following song, to the popular air 
of“ Paddy O’Carroll 


“BAD LUCK TO THIS MARCHING.” 

Air— “ Paddy O^Carroir 

“ Bad luck to this marching, 

Pipeclaying and starching ; 

How neat one must be to be killed by the French ? 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


171 


I’m sick of parading, 

Through wet and cowld wading. 

Or standing all night to be shot in the trench. 

To the tune o’ a fife. 

They dispose of your life. 

You surrender your soul to some illigant lilt, 

Now I like Garry o wen. 

When I hear it at home. 

But it’s not half so sweet when you’re going to be kilt 

“ Then though up late and early. 

Our pay comes so rarely. 

The devil a farthing we’ve ever to spare ; 

They say some disaster. 

Befell the paymaster ; 

On my conscience, I think that the money’s not there. 
And, just think, what a blunder ; 

They won’t let us plunder. 

While the convents invite us to rob them, ’tis clear ; 
Though there isn’t a village. 

But cries, ‘ Come and pillage,’ 

Yet we leave all the mutton behind for Mounseer. 

f 

“ Like a sailor that’s nigh land, 

I long for that island’ 

Where even the kisses we steal if we please ; 

Where it is no disgrace, , 

If you don’t wash your face. 

And you’ve nothing to do but to stand at your ease. 
With no sergeant t’ abuse us. 

We fight to amuse us. 

Sure it’s better beat Christian than kick a baboon ; 
How I’d dance like a fairy, 

To see ould Dunleary, 

And think twice ere I’d leave it to be a dragoon !” 


" There’s a sweet little bit for you,” said Mike, as he concluded; 
thrown off as aisy as a game of foot-ball.” 

I say, Mr. Free, the captain’s looking for you ; he’s just 
received despatches from the camp, and wants his horses.” 

In that case, gentlemen, I must take my leave of you — 
with the more regret, too, that I was thinking of treating you 
to a supper this evening. Yon needn’t be laughing, it’s in 
earnest I am. Coming, sir ! — coming !” shouted he, in a louder 
tone, answering some imaginary call, as an excuse for his 
exit. 

When he appeared before me, an air of most business-like 
alacrity had succeeded to his late appearance, and having taken 
my orders to get the horses in readiness, he left me at once, and in 
less than half an hour we were upon the road. 


172 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

MONSOON IN TROUBLE. 

As I rode along toward Fuentes d’Onoro, I could not help 
feeling provoked at the absurd circumstances in which I was 
involved. To be made the subject of laughter for a whole army, 
was by no means a pleasant consideration ; but what I felt far 
worse was, the possibility that the mention of my name in con- 
nection with a reprimand, might reach the ears of those who knew 
notliing of the cause. 

Mr. Free himself seemed little under the influence of similar 
feelings ; for, wheii after a silence of a couple of hours, I turned 
suddenly toward him with a half angry look, and remarked, 
^‘You see, sir, what your confounded blundering has done;” his 
cool reply was — 

“ Ah, then, won’t Mrs. M^Gra be frightened out of her life, when 
she reads all about the killed and wounded in your honour’s 
report ! . I wonder if they ever had the manners to send my 
own letter afterward, when they found out their mistake !” 

“ TheAr mistake ! do you say ? rather yours ! You appear to 
have a happy knack of shifting blame from your own shoulders ; 
and do you fancy that they’ve nothing else to do than to trouble 
their heads about your absurd letters ?” 

“ Faith ! it’s easily seen, you never saw my letter, or you 
wouldn’t be saying that ; and sure it’s not much trouble it would 
give Colonel Fitzroy, or any o’ the staff that writes a good hand, 
just to put in a line to Mrs. M‘Gra, to prevent her feeling alarmed 
about that murthering paper. .Well, well, it’s God’s blessing ! 
I don’t think there’s anybody of the name of Mickey Free high 
up in the army but myself; so that the family won’t be going into 
mourning for me on a false alarm.” 

I had not patience to participate in this view of the case ; so that 
I continued my journey without speaking. We had jogged along 
for some time after dark, when the distant twinkle of the watch- 
fires announced our approach to the camp. A detachment of the 
fourteenth formed the advanced post, and from the officer in com- 
mand, I learned that Power was quartered at a small mill about 
half a mile distant ; thither I accordingly turned my steps, but, 
finding that the path which led abruptly down to it was broken, 
and cut up in many places, I sent Mike back with the horses, and 
continued my way alone on foot. 

The night was deliciously calm, and, as I approached the little 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


173 


rustic mill, I could not help feeling struck with Power’s taste in a 
billet. 

A little vine-clad cottage, built close against a rock nearly con- 
cealed by the dense foliage around it, stood beside a clear rivulet, 
whose eddying current supplied water to the mill, and rose in a 
dew-like spray, which sparkled like gems in the pale moonlight. 
All was still within, but as I came nearer I thought I could detect 
the chords of a guitar. Can it be, thought I, that Master Fred has 
given himself up to minstrelsy? or, is it some little dress rehearsal 
for a serenade? But, no, thought I, that certainly is not Power’s 
voice. I crept stealthily down the little path, and approached the 
window ; the lattice lay open, and, as the curtain waved to and fro 
with the night air, I could see plainly all who were in the room. 

Close beside the window sat a large dark-featured Spaniard, his 
hands crossed upon his bosom, and his head inclined heavily for- 
ward ; the attitude perfectly denoting deep sleep, even had not his 
cigar, which remained passively between his lips, ceased to give 
forth its blue smoke wreath. At a little distance from him sat a 
young girl, who even by the uncertain light I could perceive was 
possessed of all that delicacy of form and gracefulness of carriage 
which characterizes her nation. 

Her pale features, paler still from the contrast with her jet black 
hair and dark costume, were lit up with an expression of anima- 
tion and enthusiasm as her fingers swept rapidly and boldly across 
the strings of a guitar. 

“And you’re not tired of ?” said she, bending her head 

downward toward one, whom I now for the first time perceived. 

Reclining carelessly at her feet, his arm leaning upon her chair, 
while his hand occasionally touched her taper fingers, lay my friend 
Master Fred Power. An undress jacket thrown loosely open, and 
a black neckcloth negligently knotted, bespoke the nonchalance 
with which he prosecuted his courtship. 

“ Do sing it again !” said he, pressing her fingers to his lips. 

What she replied I could not catch ; but Fred resumed — “ No, 
no, he never wakes : the infernal clatter of that mill is his lul- 
laby.” 

“ But your friend will be here soon,” said she ; “ is it not so ?” 

“ Oh, poor Charley ! I’d almost forgotten him ; by-the-bye, you 
mustn’t fall in love with him ; there now, do not look angry; I only 
meant that, as I knew he’d be desperately smitten, you shouldn’t 
let him fancy he got any encouragement.” 

“ What would you have me do ?” said she, artlessly. 

“ I’ve been thinking over that too. In the first place, you’d 
better never let him hear you sing ; scarcely ever smile ; and, as 
far as possible, keep out of his sight.” 

“ One would think, senor, that all these precautions were to 
be taken more on my account than his. Is he so very dangerous, 
then ?” 

P 2 


174 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


Not a bit of it ! — good looking enough he is, but — only a boy ; 
at the same time, a devilish bold one ! and he’d think no more of 
springing through that window, and throwing his arms round your 
neck, the very first moment of his arrival, than I should of whis- 
pering how much I love you.” 

“ How very odd he must be ! Pm sure I should like him.” 

Many thanks to both for your kind hints, and now to take 
advantage of them.” So saying, I stepped lightly upon the win- 
dow sill, cleared the miller with one spring, and before Power 

could recover his legs, or her astonishment, I clasped her 

in my arms, and kissed her on either cheek. 

Charley ! Charley ! Damn it, man, it won’t do,” cried Fred, 
while the young lady, evidently more amused at his discomfiture 
than affronted at the liberty, threw herself into a seat, and laughed 
immoderately. 

Ha ! holloa there ! What is’t ?” shouted the miller, rousing 
himself from his nap, and looking eagerly around. ‘‘Are they 
coming? Are the French coming?” 

A hearty renewal of his daughter’s laughter was the only reply; 
while Power relieved his anxiety by saying — 

“No, no, Pedrillo, not the French; a mere marauding party: 
nothing niore. I say, Charley,” continued he, in a lower tone, 
“ you had better lose no time in reporting yourself at head quar- 
ters. We’ll walk up together. Devilish awkward scrape yours.” 

“ Never fear, Fred ; time enough for all that. For the present, 
if you permit me, Pll follow up my acquaintance with our fair 
friend here.” 

“ Gently, gently !” said he, with a look of imposing seriousness. 
“ Don’t mistake her ; she’s not a mere country girl : you under- 
stand — been bred in a convent here — rather superior kind of a 
thing.” 

“ Come, come, Fred, Pm not the man to interfere with you for 
a moment.” 

“ Good night, senor,” said the old miller, who had been waiting 
patiently all this time to pay his respects before going. 

“ Yes ; that’s it !” cried Power, eagerly. “ Good night, Pe- 
drillo.” 

Buenos noches/^ lisped out Margaritta, with a slight courtesy. 

I sprang forward to acknowledge her salutation, when Power 
coolly interposed between us, and, closing the door after them, 
placed his back against it. 

“ Master Charley, I must read you a lesson ” 

“ You inveterate hypocrite, don’t attempt this nonsense with me. 
But come, tell me how long you have been here.” 

“Just twenty-four of the shortest hours I ever passed at an out- 
post. But listen: do you know that voice? Isn’t it O’Shaugh- 
nessy ?” 

“ To be sure it is : hear the fellow’s song.” 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


175 


“My father cared little for shot or shell, 

He laughed at death and dangers ; 

And he’d storm the very gates of hell, 

With a company of the ‘ Rangers.’ 

So sing tow, row, row, row, row,” &c, 

‘‘ Ah then, Mister Power, it’s twice Pd think of returning your 
visit, if I knew the state of your avenue. If there’s a grand jury 
in Spain, they might give you a presentment for this bit of road. 
My knees are as bare as a commissary’s conscience, and I’ve 
knocked as much flesh off my shin bones as would make a cornet 
in the hussars.” 

A regular roar of laughter from both of us apprized Dennis of 
our vicinity. 

And it’s laughing ye are ! Wouldn’t it be as polite just to hold 
a candle or lantern for me, in this confounded watercourse ?” 

‘‘How goes it, Major?” cried I, extending my hand to him 
through the window. 

“ Charley — Charley O’Malley, my son ! I’m glad to see you. 
It’s a hearty laugh you gave us this morning. My friend Mickey’s 
a pleasant fellow for a secretary at war. But it’s all settled now ; 
Crawford arranged it for you this afternoon.” 

“ You don’t say so ! Pray tell me all about it.” 

“ That’s just what I won’t ; for, ye see, I don’t know it : but I be- 
lieve Old Monsoon’s affair has put every thing out of their heads.” 

“ Monsoon’s affair ! what is that ? Out with it, Dennis.” 

“ Faith, I’ll be just as discreet about that as your own business. 
All I can tell you is, that they brought him up to head-quarters 
this evening, with a sergeant’s guard, and they say he’s to be tried 
by court-martial ; and Picton is in a blessed humour about it.” 

“What could it possibly have been ? some plundering aftair, de- 
pend on it.” 

“ Faith, you may swear it wasn’t for his little charities, as Dr. 
Pangloss calls them, they’ve pulled him up,” cried Power. 

“ Maurice is in high feather about it,” said Dennis. “ There are 
five of them up at Fuentes, making a list of charges to send to 
Monsoon ; for Bob Mahon, it seems, heard of the old fellow’s do- 
ings up the mountains.” 

“ What glorious fun !” said Power. “ Haste and join them, 
boys !” 

' ‘‘ Agreed,” said I. “ Is it far from this ?” 

“ Another stage. When we’ve got something to eat,” said the 
major, “if Power has any intentions that way ” 

“ Well I really did begin to fear Fred’s memory was lapsing ; 
but somehow, poor fellow, smiles have been more in his way than 
sandwiches, lately.” 

An admonishing look from Power was his only reply, as he 
walked toward the door. Bent upon teasing him, however, I 
continued — 


176 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


“Who? Monsoon is it 

“No, no. Not Monsoon; another friend of ours.’’ 

“Faith, I scarcely thought your fears of old Monsoon worth 
calling for. He’s a fox — the devil a less.” 

“ No, no, Dennis. I wasn’t thinking of him. My anxieties 
were for a most soft-hearted young gentleman — one Fred Power.” 

“ Charley, Charley !” said Fred from the door, where he had 
been giving directions to his servant about supper ; “ a man can 
scarce do a more silly thing than marry in the army; all the dis- 
agreeables of married life, with none of its better features.” 

“Marry — marry!” shouted O’Shaughnessy ; “upon my con- 
science, it is incomprehensible to me how a man can be guilty of 
it. To be sure, I don’t mean to say that there are not circum- 
stances — such as half-pay, old age, infirmity, the loss of your limbs, 
and the like ; but that, with good health and a small balance 
at your banker’s, you should be led into such an embarrass- 
ment ” 

“ Men will flirt,” said I, interrupting : “ men will press taper fin- 
gers, look into bright eyes, and feel their witchery ; and, although 
the fair owners be only quizzing them half the time, and amusing 
themselves the other, and though they be the veriest hackneyed 
coquettes ” 

“Did you ever meet the Dalrymple girls, Dennis?” said Fred, 
with a look I shall never forget. 

What the reply was I cannot tell. My shame and confusion 
were overwhelming, and Power’s victory complete. 

“Here comes the prog,” cried Dennis, as Power’s servant en- 
tered with a very plausible-looking tray, while Fred proceeded to 
place before us a strong army of decanters. 

Our supper was excellent ; and we were enjoying ourselves to 
the utmost, when an orderly sergeant suddenly opened the door, 
and raising his hand to his cap, asked if Major Power was there ? 

“ A letter for yon, sir.” 

“ Monsoon’s writing, by Jove ! Come, boys, let us see what it 
means. What a hand the old fellow writes ! the letters look all 
crazy, and are tumbling against each other on every side. Did 
you ever see any thing half so tipsy as the crossing of that t J?” 

“ Read it : read it out, Fred !” 

“ Tuesday Evening. 

“Dear Power, — Pm in such a scrape ! Come up and see me at 
once ; bring a little sherry with you ; and we’ll talk over what’s 
to be done. “ Yours, ever, B. Monsoon. 

“ Quarter General.” 

We resolved to finish our evening with the major: so that, each 
having armed himself with a bottle or two, and the remnants of 
our supper, we set out toward his quarters, under the guidance of 
the orderly. After a sharp walk of half an hour, we reached a 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


177 


small iiut, Avhere two sentries of the eighty-eighth were posted at 
the door. 

O’Shaughiiessy procured admittance for us, and in we went. 
At a small table, lighted by a thin tallow candle, sat old Monsoon, 
who, the weather being hot, had neither coat nor wig on ; an old 
cracked china teapot, in which, as we found afterward, he had 
mixed a little grog, stood before him, and a large mass of papers 
lay scattered around on every side : he himself being occupied in 
poring over their contents, and taking occasional draughts from his 
uncouth goblet. 

As we entered noiselessly he never perceived us, but continued 
to mumble over, in a low tone, from the documents before him — 

“ Upon my life, it’s like a dream to me. What infernal stuff 
this brandy is ! 

‘ Charge No. 8. — For conduct highly unbecoming an officer 
and a gentleman, in forcing the cellar of the San Nicholas convent 
at Banos, taking large quantities of wine therefrom, and subse- 
quently compelling the prior to dance a bolero, thus creating a riot, 
and tending to destroy the harmony between the British and the 
Portuguese, so strongly inculcated to be preserved by the general 
orders.’ 

Destroying the harmony ! Bless their hearts !• How little 
they know of it ! I’ve never seen a jollier night in the Peninsula! 
The prior’s a trump, and, as for the bolero, he would dance it. I 
hope they say nothing about my hornpipe. 

“ ‘ Charge No. 9. — For a gross violation of his duty as an 
officer, in sending a part of his brigade to attack and pillage the 
alcalde of Banos; thereby endangering the public peace of the 
town, being a flagrant breach of discipline and direct violation of 
the articles of war.’ 

Well, I’m afraid I was rather sharp on the alcalde, but we did 
him no harm except the fright. What sherry the fellow had ! 
’t would have been a sin to let it fall into the hands of the French. 

‘ Charge No. 10. — For threatening, on or about the night of 
the 3d, to place the town of Banos under contribution, and subse- 
quently forcing the authorities to walk in procession before him, 
in absurd and ridiculous costumes.’ 

“ Lord, how good it was !— I shall never forget the old alcalde ! 
One of my fellows fastened a dead lamb round his neck, and told 
him it was the golden fleece. The commander-in-chief would 
have laughed himself if he were there. Picton’s much too grave ; 
never likes a joke. 

Charge No. 11. — For insubordination and disobedience, in 
refusing to give up his sword, and rendering it necessary for the 
Portuguese guard to take it by force ; thereby placing himself in a 
situation highly degrading to a British officer.’ 

‘^Didn’t I lay about me before they got it! Who’s that? 

Who’s laughing there ? Ah ! boys, I’m glad to see you. How 

VoL. H.— 23 


17S 


CHARLES o’mALLEY, 


are you, Fred ? Well, Charley, I’ve heard of your scrape ; very 
sad thing for so young a fellow as you are ; I don’t think /ou’ll 
be broke ; I’ll do what I can — I’ll see what I can do with Picton • 
we are very old friends — were at Eaton together.” 

Many thanks. Major ; but I hear your own affairs are not 
flourishing. What’s all this court-martial about 

A mere trifle; some little insubordination in the legion. Those 
Portuguese are sad dogs. How very good of you, Fred, to think 
of that little supper.” 

While the major was speaking, his servant with a dexterity, the 
fruit of long habit, had garnished the table with the contents of 
our baskets, and Monsoon, apologizing for not putting on his wig, 
sat down among us with a face as cheerful as though the floor 
was not covered with the charges of the court-martial to be held 
on him. 

As we chatted away over the campaign and its chances. Mon- 
soon seemed little disposed to recur to his own fortunes. In fact, 
he appeared to suffer much more from what he termed my un- 
lucky predicament than from his own mishaps. At the same time, 
as the evening wore on, and the sherry began to tell upon him, his 
heart expanded into its habitual moral tendency, and, by an easy 
transition, he was led from the religious association of convents, to 
the pleasures of pillaging them. 

What wine they have in their old cellars ! — It’s such fun 
drinking it out of great silver vessels as old as Methuselah. 
^ There’s much treasure in the house of the righteous,’ as David 
says ; and any one who has ever sacked a nunnery knows that.” 

I should like to have seen that prior dancing the bolero,” said 
Power. 

Wasn’t it good though ! he grew jealous of me, for I per- 
formed a hornpipe. Very good fellow the prior; not like the al- 
calde ; there was no fun in him. Lord bless him, he’ll never for- 
get me.” 

“ What did you do Avith him. Major ?” 

‘‘Well, I’ll tell you; but you mustn’t let it be known, for I see 
they have not put it in the court-martial. Is there no more sherry 
there ? There, that will do ; I’m always contented. ‘ Better a dry 
morsel , with quietness,’ as Moses says. Ay, Charley, and never 
forget-r-‘and a merry heart is just like medicine.’ Job found 
that, you know. 

“ Well, but the ^calde. Major.” 

“ 0, the alcalde, to be sure : these pious meditations make me 
forget earthly matters..” 

This old alcalde at Banos, I found out was quite spoiled by 
Lord Wellington : he used to read all the general orders, and got 
an absurd notion in his head that, because Ve were his allies, we 
Avcre not allowed to plunder. Only think, he used to snap his 
fingers at Beresford ; didn’t care twopence about the legion ; and 


THE IRISH DRAGOON. 


179 


laughed outright at Wilson : so when I was ordered down there, I 
took another way. with him ; I waited till nightfall, ordered two 
squadrons to turn their jackets, and sent forward two of my aides- 
de-camp with a few troopers to the alcalde’s house. They galloped 
into the court-yard, blowing trumpets and making an infernal hub- 
bub. Down came the alcalde in a passion. ‘ Prepare quarters 
quickly and rations for eight hundred men.’ 

“ ‘ Who dares to issue such an order ?’ said he. 

The aid-de-camp whispered one word in his ear, and the old 

fellow grew as pale as death. ‘Is he here? — is he coming? 

Is he coming ?’ said he, trembling from head to foot. 

“ I rode in myself at this moment, looking thus 

“ ‘ Ou est It malheureux V said I, in French ; you know I speak 
French like Portuguese. 

“ Devilish like, I’ve no doubt,” muttered Power. 

“ ‘ Pardon, gracias excellentissima P said the alcalde on his 
knees. 

“ Who the deuse did he take you for. Major ?” 

“You shall hear: you’U never guess, though. Lord! I shall 
never forget it. He thought I was Marmont: my aid-de-camp 
told him so.” 

One loud burst of laughter interrupted the major at this moment, 
and it was some considerable time before he could continue his 
narrative. v 

“ And do you really mean,” said I, “ that you personated the 
Duke de Ragusa ?” 

“ Did I not though ? If you only had seen me with a pair of 
great moustaches, and a drawn sabre in my hand, pacing the 
room up and down in presence of the assembled authorities. 
Napoleon himself might have been deceived. My first order was 
to cut off all their heads ; but I commuted the sentence to a heavy 
fine. Ah, boys ! if they only understood at head-quarters how to 
carry on a war in the Peninsula, they’d never have to grumble 
in England about increased taxation. How I’d mulct the nun- 
neries ! How I’jd grind the corporate towns ! How I’d inundate 
the country with exchequer bills ! I’d sell the priors at so much a 
head, and put the nuns up to auction by the dozen.” 

“You sacrilegious old villain ! But continue the account of your 
exploits.” 

“ Faith, I remember little more. After dinner I grew somewhat 
mellow, and a kind of moral bewilderment which usually steals 
over me about eleven o’clock, induced me to invite the alcalde 
and all the aldermen to come up and sup. Apparently, we had a 
merry night of it, and when morning broke, we were not quite 
clear in our intellects. Hence came that infernal procession ; for 
when the alcalde rode round the town with a paper cap, and 
all the aldermen after him, the inhabitants felt offended, it seems, 
and sent for a large guerilla force, who captured me and my 


180 


CHARLES o’MALLEY. 


staff, after a vigorous resistance. The alcalde fouglit like a 
trump for us; for I promised to make him prefect of the Seine; 
but we were overpowered, disarmed, and carried off: the re- 
mainder you can read in the court-martial ; for you may think 
that what, after sacking the town, drinking all night, and fighting 
in the morning, my memory was none of the clearest.” 

“Did you not explain that you were not the marshal gene- 
ral ?” 

“ No, faith ; I knew better than that ; they’d have murdered 
me, had they known their mistake. They brought me to head- 
quarters in the hope of a great reward, and it was only when 
they reached this, that they found out I was not the Duke de 
Ragusa ; so you see, boys, it’s a very complicated business.” 

“ Gad, and so it is,” said Power, “ and an awkward one 
too.” 

“ He’ll be hanged, as sure as my name’s Dennis,” vociferated 
O’Shaughnessy, with an energy that made the major jump from 
his chair. “ Picton will hang him !” 

“ Pm not afraid,” said Monsoon ; “they know me so well. Lord 
bless you, Beresford couldn’t get on without me.” 

“ Well, Major,” said I, “ in any case, you certainly take no 
gloomy nor desponding view of your case.” 

“ Not I, boy. You know what Jeremiah says — ‘ A merry heart 
is a continual feast;’ and so it is. I may die of repletion, but 
they’ll never find me starved with sorrow.” 

“And, faith, it’s a strange thing,” muttered O’Shaughnessy, 
thinking aloud ; “ a most extraordinary thing. An honest fellow 
would be sure to be hanged ; and there’s that ould rogue, that’s 
been melting down more saints and blessed virgins than the whole 
army together, he’ll escape. You’ll see he will !” 

“ There goes the patrol,” said Fred ; “ we must start.” 

“ Leave the sherry, boys ; you’ll be back again. Pll have it 
put up carefully.” 

We could scarce resist a roar of laughter as we said, “ Good^ 
night.” 

“ Adieu, Major,” said I ; “ we shall meet soon.” 

So saying, I followed Power and O’Shaughnessy toward their 
head-quarters. 

“ Maurice has done it beautifully,” said O’Shaughnessy. “ Plea- 
sant revelations the old fellow will make on the court-martial, 
if he only remembers what he heard to-night. But here we are, 
Charley ; so good-night ; and remember you breakfast with me 
to-morrow.” 


LBJL ’09 



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